Category: #Poetry
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The Holy Trinity of Creation
In the quiet sanctuary of creation, where light filters through dust-laden air and silence holds its breath, three lovers await their eternal dance—paint, brush, and canvas, each incomplete without the others, each yearning for the moment when separation dissolves into something transcendent…
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Come Home To Your Words
There’s a door I’ve been avoiding, painted white with years of silence, and you know the one I mean— the one that creaks when I approach with trembling fingers wrapped around a pen that’s forgotten how to bleed. I stand before this threshold now, my shadow stretched across the floor like all the words I’ve…
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When Silence Speaks Louder
In the cathedral of unspoken words, where echoes gather like dust on windowsills, I trace the outline of your absence with fingertips that remember the geography of your skin. The house breathes differently now—each room a vessel holding the weight of conversations we will never have…
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Fireflies
I understand what my grandmother knew: That we are all fireflies carrying our small lights through the vast darkness, signaling to each other across the night, hoping someone will see our brief flashing and flash back, I am here, I am here, I am here, before the summer ends and we return to earth, leaving…
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Sometimes If You Think It’s Too Fast, It’s Probably Perfect: Meditation on Speed, Timing, and the Perfection of Now
The hummingbird’s wings beat eighty times per second—too fast for your eyes to follow, yet perfect enough to suspend ruby throat against morning light, defying gravity with invisible grace. Sometimes if you think it’s too fast, it’s probably perfect.
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Nine Voices: A Connected Journey
In Nine Voices: A Connected Journey, poetic voices converge to explore the fluidity of identity, the beauty of listening, and the silent power of memory. From a baker’s quiet rituals to the dusty echoes of a forgotten trunk, this reflective cycle moves through grief, growth, and the sacred rhythm of becoming. Each piece is a…
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The Sink Still Drips (Grief Echoing Through Familiar Spaces)
“I still hear the clatter of forks, not from today, but from a Tuesday three Octobers ago when the soup boiled over and your laughter rose above the steam…” This poem lingers in the stillness of a kitchen that remembers—where every stir, every crack in the tile, and every whisper of cinnamon tells the story…
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Who Do You Spend the Most Time With?
A tender, lyrical meditation on the silent companion we often overlook—ourselves.
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If You Had to Change Your Name, What Would Your New Name Be?
What is a name but a thread through time? If I had to change mine, I would seek not a label— but a mirror reflecting the truest me.
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We Do Not ‘End’. We Become.
In this meditative poem, the soul journeys beyond finality into infinite change — from ashes to oceans, from endings to essence.
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