The flower needs rest,
so winter tucks it beneath the earth,
letting it sleep until spring.

The sun needs rest,
so the clouds and rain embrace it,
shielding its warmth for another day.

You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

I yearn to lose myself in you,
like rivers surrendering to the sea’s embrace.
You are the petals—soft, sacred—
and I, the flower, drawn to your grace.

Desire glows beneath my skin,
like sun flares aching to begin.
I would fall into every shade of your shadow,
burning, if it meant you'd never feel hollow.

The sadness falls in sheets of rain—
I long for an umbrella of love.
You are the Atlantic, lost in tides,
I am the Pacific, distant above.

Two waters that will never meet,
divided by fate, by silent war.
Loneliness hums in flickering streetlights,
shadows stretch, but mine is no more.

The mirror mocks with a cruel smile,
a stranger wears my skin and eyes.
If self-love is an illusion,
why can’t I stop despising mine?

My world, once golden, now Atlantis,
drowning beneath a memory.
The pillars that held my past and pain,
once strong with love, now start to break.

And as the cracks run deep and wide,
they show the truth I failed to see—
the ones I cherished, swore were mine,
were only ghosts disguised as peace.

El Dorado gleamed on the horizon,
but it’s farther than the stars abide.
Betrayal shattered like porcelain glass,
a wound too deep for love to hide.

Yet even ruin learns to harden—
one day, I will return the favor in steel.

I kiss the air between us, a breeze that lingers,
tracing soft patterns on your skin.
A tiny scar catches my eye—
a story I wish I'd been part of,
and suddenly, I want to protect every piece of you.

I study you like poetry written in touch,
my lips trailing every verse.
I am yours, entirely, undeniably—
and, darling, you have exquisite taste.

They say love needs no reason—
but with you,
I have endless ones.
Your body, a poem God took his time to write.
Your eyes—black holes—
I fall in, lose myself,
and never want to be found.
You are nature’s desire,
and mine.

You wear the mask of kindness,
A porcelain smile, polished for the world.
Your hands reach for all but the one who lingers
In your shadow, silent as dusk—
Is she truly beloved, or just a name you keep?

She is a paper lantern in a storm,
Her grievances fold like hidden creases,
Tied tight as a kimono’s breathless knot.
She stands within the sacred rites,
A ghost among the living,
Draped in the weight of unseen chains.

But you chase reflections in silvered glass,
A puppet to the world’s approving gaze.
Yet the truth is not a mirror’s trick—
It bends, warps, escapes,
Like light slipping through a shattered lens

The bruises you veil beneath a painted smile,
Layers of foundation masking hollow nights.
Dark, pale suffering seeps through the cracks,
While red-rimmed eyes whisper silent prayers—
Begging, pleading for an unheard dawn.

"God, how cruel to silence a woman's cry."

But fate was inked in unseen hands,
And she faded—not in scripted sorrow,
Not in a drama where love rewrites the end,
But in the quiet decay of indifference.

It wasn’t just her war to lose,
But a battle rigged by a world that never listened—
A coin flipped, always landing on the rotten side.

You are bamboo—
slow to grow, strong for life.
You are jasmine—
delicate, fragrant, real.
Both are needed.

And you?
You’re here.
Still blooming.
Still meant to be.

And me?
Just a human
catching his thoughts like fireflies—
watching them glow
on paper.

I look in the mirror — I’m unlike anyone else.
The rarest gem on Earth, there's no one quite like me.
Each day I polish my edges, climb higher, rise stronger.
My reflection glows with aura, resilience, and shine.
Every part of me speaks of strength — and so do you.
You're not weak — you've just forgotten your power.

Something clutches my chest—
a ghost-hand, tight as ivy on stone.
My heart, a trembling bird,
flutters at the edge of a storm.

The center of me burns—
a dying sun folding into itself,
pulling all light
into a single, aching point.

And there—
a tide of shadows calls,
dragging me down
where even dreams forget to rise.

Is this the end—
the final wilt of a flower that never bloomed?
My name fades like ink
washed away by merciless rain,
my dreams crumble
like abandoned sandcastles at dusk.

Where is the wildfire
that once roared inside me?
Now I am a candle,
melting without a flame,
a shadow chasing a sun
that never rises for me.

What is the point of pain
if it never runs dry?
It stretches like an endless ocean,
each wave heavier than the last,
dragging me deeper—
where light cannot reach.

I walk a road no one else takes,
where streetlights are ghosts,
where even the wind forgets to whisper.
The river beneath the bridge writhes,
never still, never calm,
just like me.

God, was it too much to ask
Wished for some hurdles to lessen,
But even the roadside grass
Knows no mercy under the weight of passing feet

I never wanted to beg,
but mercy tastes sweet
when you are starving.
Still, no hand reaches out,
no voice calls my name.

I tried to belong,
but I am the night sky—
swallowing all color,
never reflecting back the light.

Let me breathe—
but the air is an ocean,
and I am drowning in silence.

Want someone to skip a beat of my heart
Want my soul to rest without vanishing?
Want someone to notice—before I am gone?
God, is it really too much to ask?

I drank the lullabies of serpents,
Each note laced in honeyed deceit.
They slithered through the cracks of need,
Whispering warmth with daggered teeth.

I bowed to beasts with broken tongues,
Their barks were sermons in the dark.
I lit my soul to guide their way—
They left me stranded, cold and marked.

Beneath a quilt of dying wool,
I watched the hearth devour its kin.
The logs wept smoke and split in grief,
Still burning, just to warm my skin.

Studying last minute is like reheating fries—
It kinda works, but it’s never the same quality!
You wouldn’t be drowning in books tonight,
If your delulu dreams took a backseat right,
But oh, love won’t help you pass the fight!

I comfort you like rain cradles the thirsty earth,
I kiss you like the sunset melts into the ocean’s embrace,
And I would die with you, like a flame fading into the wind—without regret.

When the world shatters, piece by piece,
Each shard too lost—if found, too heavy to seize.
Life becomes a wasteland, where joy’s just a trace,
So numb… even sorrow wears a human face.

I’d break for you, bend for you,
become shelter when the world forgets to be kind.
I’d give without question,
lose myself, just to see you find me.

So stay.
Always… be with me.

The wolves pursue in starving packs,
Their howls a hymn to midnight’s mark.
But I have learned the art of flight,
To guard my small, defiant spark.

I stumble into serpents’ coils,
Their venom laced in silken art.
They hiss, they weave, they pierce with lies—
Yet cannot touch my steadfast heart.

Desire bleeds beneath my skin, your name a silent flame,
I’m falling through the shadows, caught inside your dangerous game.
Lust wears the mask of innocence, but I see the truth behind,
Carving my name into your bones, a fate that’s intertwined.

The air ignites around us, fire tangled in the night,
You are the grey-lit sky — cold, distant, yet burning bright.
Moonstruck and broken, lost inside your endless storm,
A fatal craving pulls me close, where love and poison form.

They don’t just describe emotions—
They dissect them.
Make you wonder
Why you feel,
And how much.

Some let their pens speak,
Others carry verses within—
Written on the walls of their minds,
Etched into the pulse of their hearts.

Poets are powerful.
They paint sorrow with beauty,
And make joy even more delightful.
They show us the world
Through an entirely different lens.

They can dress poverty in poetry,
And make wealth seem vainly stunning.
They stir our emotions,
Make us love deeply—
And hate just as fiercely.

We’re all born with a poet inside us.
Most just forget to listen.

The world of lies, with hollow eyes,
No, it is not the place for me.
You know I'm lonely—so lonely,
No one beside me, lost in the sea.

I long for a soulmate to carve a name
In the golden sands by the restless waves.
But the tides will come and wash it away—
Who do I turn to? Who will stay?

The sun exists, yet hides at night,
Just like me—I seem alright,
But deep inside, I fight my plight.

This world is a shadow, near in light,
Gone in the dark, out of sight.
This world won't change, I know it's true—
But one day, gold will come to you.

Let the dogs bark, let them sneer,
One day, their voices will disappear.
If they won’t let you fly, walk the sky,
If they block your path, keep moving by.

Push ahead, no matter how,
Chase your dreams, don’t stop now.
Without pain, life is incomplete,
Wings will sprout, though your back may bleed.

This world won’t change, but still, I try.
I am alone, lost in the night.
I don’t know when or how I’ll fall,
But I know—again—I’ll hit the floor.

****** tears from words that sting,
Yet life sways like a see-saw swing.
One day you're high, one day you're low,
But through it all, you learn and grow.

A heap of waste may reek at first,
but even rot makes room for roots.
What begins in decay
can still rise in bloom.
There’s still hope—
quiet, maybe,
but steady like a seed beneath the soil.

And if the ship goes under—
don’t wait for rescue.
Swim.
Even if the sea is endless,
even if hope is a whisper.
Better to reach with burning lungs
than to sink with “what if” in your chest.

Our destinies entwine like the Vallisneria bloom,
Its longing stem rising through waters of hope.
Fate’s quiet currents bear the wandering spores,
Bringing them home to a love foretold.

Emotions crash like thunder on a paper-thin sky,
Anger — a wildfire blooming beneath my ribs.
Sadness — a glacier crushing bone to dust,
Tears — the silence before the flood devours.

Guilt — a worm rotting the roots of my brain,
Happiness — a mirage flickering behind frozen glass.
Tiredness — deep valleys carved beneath my eyes,
And life? A cruel god laughing through a cracked mirror.

The sky wears my grief in a veil of storm clouds,
Each thunderclap an elegy, each lightning bolt a verdict.
Even if you wash away the crimson stains,
The echoes of your sins will never fade.

Why does sorrow weave my fate into thorn-laden tapestries?
Did my cries kiss your ears, or did you weave silence as a shield?
You shattered me into constellations of agony,
Each droplet a relic of your unatoned sins.

The valleys yawn like ancient wounds,
Rivers of rubies spill through their veins,
While mountains rise as merciless titans,
Laughing at my feeble hands that cannot scale their spines.

The fire you kindled consumed more than my flesh—
Only ashes remain, whispers of a tragedy embalmed in wind.
Yet my soul lingers, a wraith woven from anguish,
Drifting between dusk and dawn, pleading for reckoning.

Lost in the labyrinth of wailing willows, I hunger for justice,
Yet solitude devours me like a specter feasting on the guilty.
You were the beast cloaked in borrowed skin,
A shadow masquerading as light—could you not be human for a breath?

Justice rides the chariot of time, relentless as the tide.
Soon, the wind shall carry the taste of your own venom,
And the stars will script your downfall in the language of the gods.

The rain doesn't fall; it drowns.
Clouds hang low, pregnant with sorrow, weeping endlessly.
Thunder doesn't roar; it grieves, splitting the sky open like a wound.
The earth, once thirsty, now suffocates beneath the weight of too much love.
It begs for flowers, for color, for hope—
But fate is cruel, and fortune never blooms in a flood.

The tree, once proud, stands broken, breathless.
Its limbs, heavy with sorrow, bow to the ground.
Some snap, some shatter, some sink into the mud, forgotten.
No birds, no fruit, no whispering leaves—
Only bare, trembling bones of wood remain.
Once, the rain was a melody. Now, it's a requiem.

The chest is a coffin, cradling shards of a broken heart,
Too heavy to carry, too shattered to restart.
It once wept rivers for you, drowning in its own tide,
But the brain scoffed—"Fool, let the ocean run dry."

The heart still carves your name into its aching walls,
A prisoner of love, bound by rusted chains that never fall.
"You are hollow," the heart cries in disdain,
"Love escapes you—you lust in vain.
You're frail, mere desire guides your way,

I knew roses had thorns, yet I plucked them with bare hands,
Let them sink deep, let them bleed, let them brand.
And when the wounds screamed, I kissed them shut,
Sewing my pain with threads of dusk.

Every bone hums with the echoes of losing you,
Every ligament, every tendon—ghost limbs reaching through.
Yet the heart, made of muscle, does nothing but break—
It does not heal, it only loves, hates, and aches.

It doesn’t rain —
it weeps through a broken mask,
the sky unzipping its stitched-up grief
and letting sorrow bleed down like silk.

Rain drips like rosary beads
counting sins backwards,
washing blood from sidewalks
but not from time.

Animals whisper first —
fur quivering with prophecy.
Dogs howl at ghosts we pretend aren’t there.
Cats dissolve into shadow
like smoke slipping through cracks in logic.

People sleep,
wrapped in their own warmth,
not knowing the storm outside
is the Earth mourning itself.

Some cry beneath the clouds.
Some grin like broken clocks.
Some dissolve —
quiet as paper in water.

They say every night ends —
but not every soul waits long enough
to see the ink fade.
Some vanish,
not because they gave up —
but because the veil closed too tight.

And no one reads
the pages they became.

A train runs on weary tracks, but its journey is silent.
No laughter in its compartments, no warm hands waving from the windows.
Just empty seats, echoing with ghosts of friendships that never stayed.

The engine—once burning with dreams—
Now chokes on the ashes of what could have been.
It rusts beneath words like "Move on."
It crumbles beneath whispers of "Stop exaggerating."
The coal of passion has turned to dust,
And the wheels—exhausted—drag through the days, waiting for an end.

A track switch, a desperate turn—
But the new path is no salvation.
It floods with hollow sympathies, drowns in veiled threats.
The storm howls, then vanishes, leaving only drought behind.
And the train?
It no longer moves. It no longer breaks.
It simply exists—numb, rusting, forgotten.

A sheep unshorn, a misfit star,
too wild for wool, too sharp for flocks.
It walked alone where twilight wept,
where mountaintops kissed silver clocks.

Judgment struck like feathered arrows,
but wounds grew wings and took to flight.
"I’ll carve my throne from nameless echoes,
build my own laws beneath the night."

Yet beauty whispered, laced with teeth,
a velvet snarl in hunger’s guise.
The wolves arrived—moonlit beasts,
with gleaming pearls of red-stained lies.

Beauty isn’t soft, nor kind, nor fair,
It’s a rare flame, wild in the air.
A mirage that shifts, a whispered disguise,
Wrapped in illusion, unseen to the eyes.

The sheep stood firm where darkness danced,
while others cursed the sky’s despair.
Was beauty love or sharpened fangs?
A question lost to midnight air.

Bound by fate or freed by choice,
it laughed—"I’ll fall, but not in fear."
For even flight can lead to chains,
and even wolves can disappear.

I need no chariots of gleaming steel,
Nor crowns forged in the showroom’s zeal.
My wealth is woven in quiet threads—
The softest light where family treads.

A mother’s warmth, a hearth’s embrace,
More precious than a gilded chase.
Sister’s laughter, like a gentle stream,
Flows richer than a polished dream.

While others race in chrome and fire,
I walk through fields of humble desire.
Where simple moments bloom and grow—
There lies the treasure only I know..

1.Your hand finds my heart,
not to claim, but to listen—
love breathes in stillness.


2.Eyes meet in silence,
the world folds into a sigh—
only we remain.


3.Touch like falling rain,
gentle, warm, and infinite—
I bloom in your arms.


4.Lips speak in pulses,
not of lust but devotion—
a fire held soft.


5.After the closeness,
I wear your gaze like a shawl—
quiet and complete.

The season of my love — is it temporary too?
You are the rain — hide me in your arms when I cry.
You are the snowfall — its silence wraps me in warmth.
You are the medicine — healing my bruises without a trace.
Yet I drink you slow, like a tea gone cold —
my hesitation steeped in fear of burning.

The veiled mist surrounds my life,
No certainty of where it ends.
One thing’s sure—it will, in time—
Yet solace hides in shadowed bends.
Somewhere within the fog of days,
A hush of peace may lie in wait—
But will I find it 'fore it fades,
Or chase its ghost a breath too late?

Canoeing through these waves alone,
No map to show where currents flow.
Will I arrive at gentle shores—
Or crash on rocks I didn’t know?

Life—it's gambling with a breath,
A roll of stars, a coin mid-air—
Will you win a jewel of worth,
Or lose what can't be grown elsewhere?

But maybe that's the soul of it—
This glaze of chance on life's warm crust.
It must be veiled in shifting light—
To make it shine, to make us trust.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

I grew beside you,
step by step, hand in hand—
of course, I remember,
every moment, every glance.

Those precious days—
our eyes first met,
our voices intertwined,
blindfolded in love,
fingers laced in the winter's cold.
You always lent me your glove,
by the campfire, wrapped in warmth,
hushed laughter dancing with the flames.

I still have the shawl—
woven with love,
stitched with whispers,
threaded with promises.
Every fiber holds a memory,
every word you spoke, a treasure.

We fought, we mended,
love—never fragile, never tame.
We adored the golden leaves,
never once realizing
they were old and fading,
just like fleeting time.

Spring came,
the flowers bloomed,
bathed in honeyed light.
The sunset kissed your face,
orange hues ricocheting off your skin—
My love, how beautiful you are!
I fell for you, again and again.

Summer burned bright,
yet through your curls, I found shade.
We shared icy desserts,
whispered wishes for endless summers.
I drowned in your gaze,
a universe in your eyes—
your touch, a heartbeat quickening,
your embrace, a universe won.

"Don't leave me," I pleaded.
"I never will," you promised.
But love, fate is cruel—
the universe shattered,
taking a part of my heart with you.

I loved you fiercely,
cherished every moment,
every breath we shared.
"Cry, but not too much," you once said.
So, I won’t—
after all, I have always been obedient.

Did you receive the flowers I brought this morning?
I visit you every day, but today feels different.
Today, my love,
is the day you left me.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

Rest peacefully, my angel

The forest hummed its ancient lullaby,
Cold winds threading sorrow through my skin.
Its trees—bowed, yet never broken—murmured:
"It is our fate to wither or to rise,
To ache, or chase the flicker of fading stars.
But the soul—you alone may steer its course.
Be still—every forest ends in light,
The sky will one day kiss the sea,
And even the sun must drown in the ocean’s hush.
Yes, it aches. So endure—or awaken."

For not all wounds are soothed by silence,
Not all chains are meant to hold.
Some dreams slip through trembling hands,
But it is never your fault when they fall.

I stand upon the cliff’s last breath,
Where tides arise and thunder spills.
Scavengers circle, watching, waiting—
Yet life still lingers in my bones.

The clouds above, like silent judges,
Could break and drown my fleeting hope.
Beneath, the ocean coils and beckons,
A fathomless abyss of sorrow.

The silver moon, a gleaming specter,
Summons waves to pull me under.
I teeter on the fragile edge,
One slip, one plunge into the deep.

Lightning snarls—a voice of warning,
A jolt to burn or leave me scarred.
If not with fire, then silent shadows
Will haunt me long beyond this night.

I saw the algae, once alive,
Now ghosts adrift upon the tide.
The trees I passed stood tall together,
Yet whispered falsehoods to the wind.

Serpents coil around their roots,
Whispering promises of power.
Many fall to hollow hunger,
Chasing echoes, craving ruin.

But air is shared, though lungs may differ,
And souls define, not flesh alone.
Roots can mend, bear fruits of wonder—
Change, though feared, is never lost.

If you listen, let it guide you.
Nature bends but bids us rise.
Though the storm may rage relentless,
Yet even storms must bow to light.

The stars hold tight to threads of night,
burning with secrets forged in light.
Comets, like wanderers lost in time,
once bound by fate, now break their line.

One by one, they blaze and fade,
each carving paths the heavens made.
And I, adrift in hollow space,
watched my UFO embrace the chase.

An oracle whispered, bold yet true,
"Their light is theirs, but so is yours too."
It led me where no trail was drawn,
but I alone chose to go beyond.

I would not follow, nor outshine,
but forge a path that felt like mine.
Not just a spark in endless blue,
but fire that burned with something new.

The rain weaves its fingers through my hair,
like your love, sinking into every strand of my being.
Each drop, a syllable in the poem of us,
each breeze, the hush of your voice against my skin.

The clouds drift above, not mere vapor,
but the outstretched arms of your devotion,
hovering, shielding, wrapping me in whispers of forever.

I am not science, no formula to decode,
no equation seeking balance—
I am the ink that bleeds into parchment,
the unchained verse, reckless and free.

I love you like the moon loves the tides,
pulled by forces unseen, unmeasured—
like a comet that forgets its path,
falling, falling, into the gravity of you.

I know you're waiting—
Not just by instinct, but by soul.
A thread binds us, unseen yet strong,
And I swear to protect it, never let it fray.
Wait for me.

For your peace, for theirs, I must fight.
Discipline is law, obedience is fate,
Yet my enemy, too, has a family that waits.
Why do we fight, when we could simply be?
Why do borders carve wounds into destiny?

I do not know of gods,
But I hear your prayers, whispered through time.
I will return, my love, no matter how many stand in my way.
Victory matters, but so does the weight of a soul.
Each life I take—someone waits for them too.
Each thread I sever—someone’s world shatters too.

I love you, yet how can I abandon this field,
When my brothers-in-arms fall beside me?
I see their last breath, hear their silent pleas.
I need your empathy, not just your faith.

Bullets, swift and ruthless, know their path.
A soldier's purpose is clear, but is it right?
Our goals are noble, but our road is painted in blood.
The paths we choose, the lives we lose—
And still, I long for you.

Three borders stand between love and war,
Three lines drawn in dust, dividing hearts.
If I return, if fate allows,
Let’s leave behind these walls,
And drive far, far away—where war cannot follow.

Love—so tender, yet bittersweet,
A force that mends, yet breaks with ease.
It soothes the soul in moments brief,
Yet leaves behind the deepest grief.

We dance beneath the silver rain,
Where time is never spent in vain.
A humble meal, a modest share,
Yet love alone sustains us there.

I cannot promise worlds so grand,
Nor place the stars within your hand.
But in the glow of lantern light,
We'll build a home, serene and bright.

No wealth defines the love we weave,
For riches fade, but hearts believe.
Through winter’s chill and springtime’s bloom,
I vow to stand, through light and gloom.

No gilded throne, no vast domain,
Yet in your arms, all joys remain.
This simple verse, though plain and true,
Belongs forever, love, to you.

Love—so pure, yet so painful.
It either breaks you or makes you whole.
It distracts from sorrow,
Yet can be the source of it.

We dance in the rain,
Our time never wasted, never in vain.
Sharing a single meal, dividing every bite—This is all we can afford, my love.

I have little to give, and I won’t pretend otherwise.
I can’t offer you the moon or the stars,
But I’ll light a lantern to guide our way.
We’ll build a small home, just enough for us—A tiny door, but endless space in our hearts.

No gold, no silver—just us.
Rich in love, standing tall without wealth.
Through the coldest winters, I’ll never leave,
And in every spring, I’ll celebrate you.
No grand journeys, no cars speeding away,
But under snowy skies, I’ll always stay.

With all my heart, I love you.
No riches, no grandeur—just this promise.
This simple, ordinary poem is yours,
Forever belonging to you, my love.

My train winds through a cavern of silence—
a tunnel carved from doubt and dusk.
This is only a phase,
but it feels endless.

At each station, someone boards.
Strangers. Friends. Faces I once trusted.
Some stay for a while,
some leave too soon—
passengers, not meant for the whole journey.

But not all who ride are kind.

Some wear masks of flesh,
but move like ghosts—
zombies with eyes that pierce,
not see.

They don’t ask who I am.
They tell me who I should be.
"You're too much."
"You're not enough."
"Be like us."

Their words are weapons:
criticism,
comparison,
judgment sharp as bone.
They tried to wound me
with their version of truth.

And yes, I bled.
But I did not break.

They got off—
just as quietly as they came.
Left behind their echoes,
but not their power.

And I remained.
Human.
Moving forward.

Because this train is mine—
my life, my path.
And every stop,
every scar,
is proof I kept going.

I reached my station—
not perfect, but free.
Not whole, but real.
Scarred, but alive.

I know you're waiting—
not by instinct, but by soul.
Like the silver moon calls the tide,
like roots whisper to the earth,
we are bound by a thread unseen,
delicate yet unbreakable.
And I swear, my love,
I will never let it fray.

But for your peace, for theirs,
I must walk this battlefield of fate.
Here, discipline is law, steel is truth,
yet the men I face—do they not dream?
Do they not have hands that once held love,
eyes that once gazed at a home?
Why must we carve wounds into the soil
when all it ever did was cradle our steps?

I do not know of gods,
but I hear your prayers,
soft as the wind, warm as dawn.
I will return to you, my love,
no matter how many shadows stand in my way.
Victory calls, but so does guilt,
for each name that fades in the dust
was once whispered by someone who waited, too.

I love you, but how can I fear
when my brothers fall like autumn leaves?
Their blood seeps into the earth,
their voices linger in the wind.
I need your faith, yes, but more—
I need your sorrow, your understanding.
Let me be strong, but let me grieve.

Bullets are sharp-tongued messengers,
swift, ruthless, never lost.
They find their mark with unwavering grace,
but tell me, my love—does grace lie in ruin?
Our cause is noble, but our hands are stained.
Our road is paved with purpose,
yet flooded with ghosts.

Three borders, nothing more,
yet they rise like mountains between hearts.
Three lines drawn in dust,
and we call it war.
If I return, if fate is kind,
let us leave this all behind.
Let me take your hand,
and drive far, far away—
to a place where war cannot follow,
where only love remains.

Once,
the tree was only a whisper—
a dream cradled in the arms of soil.
A tiny seed, trembling,
yet daring to believe in sunlight.

Storms came early.
Winds screamed names it didn't understand.
But it stayed—
letting its roots sink deep
into the quiet ache of the earth.
The soil, ancient and tender,
carried centuries of silent sacrifices.
It held the tree like a promise
never meant to break.

Its branches stretched—
not for the sky,
but for something softer,
maybe hope.
Each knot in its wood,
a story of pain swallowed instead of spoken.
Each resin drip—
a memory stuck in the hollows of its chest.

Still, it stood.
Beasts circled.
Axes whispered through the leaves.
But the soil whispered louder—
“Grow. Even if it hurts.
Even if they try to break you.
Be so strong they forget how to cut you.”

But not every root finds water.
Not every seed feels sun.
Some trees grow in shadows so deep
they start thinking darkness is home.

Some fall.
Not from weakness,
but from carrying too much silence.

And when all that’s left
is a stump in the clearing—
they call it the end.
But beneath the surface,
the roots still hum.
They remember.
They ache.
They whisper the moments
when the tree wanted to give in—
but didn't.
Not yet.

Because it thought of the soil.
The quiet hands that held it.
The love that never asked to be seen,
but was always there.

It wanted to stay.
It truly did.
But sometimes, the rain never comes.
And sometimes,
the weight of invisible pain
is heavier than a storm.

And still—
even as it fell,
it thought:
If I leave,
what will happen to the soil?
Will it blame itself
for a drought it couldn’t stop?

Because trees don’t just die.
Sometimes,
they break their own hearts
to keep from breaking their roots.

It begins on a night swollen with rain,
where clouds smother truth like wet cloth.
The stars—mute witnesses—are veiled,
while the moon rises, gleaming
with light it did not earn.

It did not defy darkness—
it inherited glow,
passed down like titles
washed clean of blood.

Scars mark its face—
not from survival,
but from ambition.
It hides them beneath stolen shine,
pretending to be whole.

Justice hangs in the clouds,
soft now, drifting.
They cannot strip
what charm has already excused.

The stars still burn,
but no one looks.
Their light dims
beneath praise
for the clever thief.

The shimmer in your eyes—
A soft glow, a silent sonnet,
A universe where only we exist.
My teary-eyed love,
I don’t own you, yet I belong to you,
And you are mine, woven into my soul.

I watch the light bend in your gaze,
Refracting love like a thousand stars,
Scattering pieces of you into my soul.
The wind whispers our fate,
And I listen, tracing its song,
For every whisper speaks your name.

But if destiny dares to write us apart,
I will burn its pages to ashes,
Ink our names into eternity,
With the fire in my heart.

The veil of trust that graces your head,
I vow to guard it, cherish it,
With hands unshaken, with love unbreakable.
No storm, no time, no force of heaven or hell
Will ever make me let you go.

Be my bride, my moonlit prayer,
The sacred dream I wake to each day.
I will take your hand beneath the sun’s golden embrace,
Trace my lips across your fingertips,
And under the hush of the silver moon,
I will kiss you where our love first bloomed.

Let me be your home, your shelter,
The arms you run to when the world turns cold.
I will carry your burdens as if they were mine,
And walk through the fire so you never burn.

You are irreplaceable—my only, my always,
Not a mere chapter but my entire book,
Not a fleeting moment but my forever.

Let me leave this world before you,
Forgive my selfish plea—
For I cannot bear to see your tears,
Each one a crystal more precious than life itself.

I will not falter, I will not break,
For you, I would walk through the storms,
Through sorrow, through hell itself,
If it means leading you to heaven.

Every hour, every minute, every breath—
I am yours, as you are mine,
Now, always, and beyond the stars.

The scent of autumn lingers like an unspoken goodbye,
hanging in the air, thick with memories I cannot erase.
The crisp whisper of dying leaves grazes my skin—
a ghostly echo of your touch, fleeting and bittersweet.
Once, we walked upon these very leaves,
crushing them beneath careless footsteps,
the way you crushed my heart—without hesitation, without pause.

You vanished like the wind,
leaving no footprint, no farewell,
just a silence so deafening it swallowed me whole.
And yet, even in your absence, you haunt me.
What are you up to now?
Do you ever stop and wonder if the ashes of what we were
still smolder somewhere within me?

Time, they say, heals all wounds.
But what of the wounds that refuse to close?
Seasons passed, but the winter inside me stayed.
I thought I would move on with the turning of the leaves,
but my heart remained shackled to the past.

I nurtured us.
Planted seeds of tenderness,
watered them with love,
let the sunlight of my devotion bathe them.
But in the dark, it was only winterberry—
beautiful to the eye, poisonous to the touch.
And you, you did not just let it wither.
You diseased the roots.
You let it rot while I still believed it could bloom.

You did not just leave.
You hollowed me out.
You splintered my soul,
turned my love into a sickness I could not cure.
I was left clawing at the remains of myself,
desperate to bring life back to what you destroyed.

Now I walk, but I do not feel alive.
My heart no longer races, no longer aches—it is still, frozen.
My blood has turned to red crystals, sharp and jagged,
reflecting regret, hatred, frustration.
A ruin, a monument to everything we could have been.

Was it fate?
Fate is a cruel joke told by the heartbroken.
No, this was not fate—this was deception,
dressed in the warmth of a lover’s arms.

My lips, once softened by your whispers,
are now cold as winter’s first frost.
Had I known I was merely a pen in your hand,
used until the ink bled dry,
I would have never written our story.

Move on, they tell me.
As if love were a season to be endured and forgotten.
As if I did not love you the way Giselle loved—
blind, unknowing, doomed from the start.

I bloomed quietly,
so the world mistook me for a ****.

I hear them—
the sheep in their scripted refrain:
"Lower your gaze. Stay in your lane.
Blend with the flock, bury your flame—
No need for thunder. No need for name."

But I remember the ones who walked unbowed,
Eyes like storms,
souls too loud.
They taught me not to kneel, but rise,
To tear the silence,
to scorch the skies.

Don’t flow like water through cracks they choose,
A shape that fits
is a self you lose.
Be wind—ravenous, rough, untamed,
A force with no leash,
no master,
no name.

If they seal you in a space too tight,
Too small for soul,
too dim for light—
Split it open. Let rage ignite.
Turn your whisper into a war-cry flight.

This is your voice:
not meek, not borrowed.
A sun that sears
through every sorrow.
If breath still burns within your chest,
Roar, rebel—
be nothing less.

Carve your path through dusk and scar.
You are the blaze.
You are the star.