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Where the Heart Learns Its Name

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  A song begins within, no matter what it takes. In the quiet dawn, my spirit gently wakes, Soft whispers of my soul, calling me to see, That love’s true voice resides in me. My skin, a canvas painted wide, With stories carried deep inside. Dark or light, the hues are mine, Reflections of a sacred design. My eyes, a mirror of the sky, Burning bright or calm and shy, Each gaze a window to my core, Revealing truths I can’t ignore. No matter where my footsteps roam or rest, Love’s quiet presence is always my guest. A gentle tide that ebbs and flows, In every tear, in every glow. Yet all are just stories told, Of souls that seek to feel, to hold. Love’s language is soft and true, In every glance, in all I do. A tender touch, a whispered cheer, Reminding me I am held dear. But life’s a journey, wide and vast, A dance of present, future, past. Sometimes the heart must stray, To find its truth along the way. To breathe, to grow, to stand anew, And chase the dreams that call to you. For lo...
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How Love Moves

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  I feel my heart beat on, and guide me through the day. It knows no bounds of birth, or name, or shade of skin. I walk my path unjudged by eyes that turn away. It says I stand enough, just as I have been seen. Love finds me first in quiet acts I almost miss: A hand that stays, a voice that lets my breathing slow. I learn my worth in moments small, but held like this- No grand display, just time that says I get to grow. I dream, at times, of roots set deep beneath our feet; A home made warm by laughter left along the hall. I want a life where shared returns make days complete, Where holding fast means choosing both the rise and fall. Then comes the turn, when something in me asks for air: A wider sky, a step beyond familiar ground. I loosen knots of love with honesty and care, Not fleeing what we were, but what I must be found. So I let change arrive, and trust the pace it keeps. I bless the forms that love has taken in my life. I listen close to what my steady heart still speaks; ...
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The Shores and Spirits

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  The shore, a line of sand so white, Where ocean meets the day and night. The waves come crashing, loud and free, A song the wind sings endlessly. Small shells lie scattered, pearly bright, Lost treasures in the morning light. And seaweed dark as tangled hair Sleeps where the tide has left it there. The sun climbs high, a watchful eye, Tracking gulls that wheel and cry. Their shadows flicker on the foam As if they call us, Come home, come home. The fishermen with weathered skin Haul heavy nets-the day begins. Their boats in stripes of blue and red, A modest life, but bravely led. Above the surf, on rock and stone, The lighthouse stands, austere, alone. A standing witness, scarred by years, To whispered prayers and salt-worn fears. Its patient beam cuts dark from light, Counting every stormbound night. It knows the names the sea has claimed, And ships returned, and ships unclaimed. At cottage doors and shuttered panes, The waiting spouses read the rains. They scan the horizon, dusk...
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In a Millisecond

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  A tick, a tock, the clock face bright, A millisecond, a shard of light. So small, so quick, a breath, a sigh, Whole worlds are born before they die. Fate, they say, a winding thread, Spun long ago, where I am led. A path prepared, a marked design, Each step assumed, each loss, each sign. Yet in that tick, that fragile space, A win, a fall, a changed embrace. A word unsaid, a risk once taken, A dream pursued, a hope forsaken. One blink holds pleasure, sharp and sweet, The taste of triumph, heart’s quick beat. The next holds sorrow, heavy, slow, A silent tear no one will know. I paused once, lost before a street, The world unsure beneath my feet. Left promised calm, right hinted pain, Straight ahead-unknown terrain. Had I turned left, I might have won, Applause, a crown, the race outrun. Turned right, perhaps I’d failed outright, A broken dream, a longer night. But straight I went, through chance and rain, Through small defeats, through quiet gain. I met a smile, then loss, then gr...
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Learning to Heal

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  The sun feels warmer on my skin, Or so it seems to me, Perhaps I’m learning how to see Life more attentively. I listen to my body now, Its quiet, patient plea, The aches, the pauses, all the signs It shares so honestly. I used to push and force my heart, Demand it just endure, But shouting at a wounded wing Won’t ever make it soar. So now I sit, I breathe, I wait, Like tending fragile ground, I whisper, You are safe with me, And gently clear around. There is still pain from yesterday, A shadow lingering, But pain is not an enemy- It teaches gentler things. I am not broken, I respond The best way that I can, Each breath I take reminds me still My body’s on my side. The scars I once despised and hid I view with softer sight, They mark the wars I lived through once, The proof I chose to fight. Forgiveness falls like quiet rain Upon my tired soul, I grant myself the grace to fail And still remain made whole. I free the past that caused me harm, Not for them-but for me, I loosen chain...
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The Silver Arc

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  Another year has spun its thread, A silver arc the daylight led, A quiet turn of earth and sky, With ordinary days gone by. No trumpet sounded time’s advance, Just morning light and evening’s chance, Yet every step, however small, Was warmed by you-I felt it all. Each season paints a different hue, Spring’s soft hope, summer’s deeper blue, Autumn’s gold that learns to fall, And winter’s hush that stills us all. And every one I share with you Becomes more honest, more than true- Richer, deeper, softly spun, Like threads that know where they belong. The laughter shared in careless streams, The quiet mending of our dreams, The tears we dried without a word, The comfort felt, not always heard. Side by side in stillness found, We learned what peace could sound like-sound Of breathing slow, of trust held fast, Of moments made to gently last. No map was drawn for where we went, No great design, no grand intent, Just days that asked we show our face, And love that learned a steady pace. ...
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Feathers, Fear, and Flame

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  The world feels heavy, skies turn gray, A chilling wind begins to sway. High above, on broken air, A vulture circles, thin and bare. Its shadow crawls across the land, A silent fear, well-rehearsed and planned. It waits where hope is torn and weak, With hollow eyes and hooked-up beak. It hides in corners, whispers low, Feeds on wounds we dare not show. It clouds our vision, blocks the sun, And tells our hearts the day is done. We try to fight it, claw and bite, With angry words, with all our might. We raise our fists, defend our ground, Yet still it circles, always round. For vultures thrive where pain lies still, Where bitterness has had its fill. They feast on anger, rot, and fear, On all we leave to die right here. But darkness bears a fragile flaw, A truth the vulture cannot gnaw. No raging storm, no brutal cry, Can force that bird away the sky. For vultures scatter, wings unsure, When light appears, steady and pure. A single flame, a gentle gleam, Turns looming death to fadi...
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