Fourlinegraphia

  Not every smile is a harbour of peace, nor every curved lip a haven of love. Some gleam like light upon polished steel, a brilliant shield for the storm above. *** They are sharpened slowly, like hidden blades, forged in the dark of a quiet mind, bending their edges with subtle grace to veil the shadows that wait behind. *** I do not fear the loud, hollow laugh; for noise is the currency fools employ. Wisdom walks softly through the dust of time, while silence unmakes what words destroy. *** And so I wait for another dawn, when the mask you wear has fallen away, arriving like morning over the hills, where mercy, not pride, commands the day. *** When your smile returns without its armour, carrying mercy instead of pride, and gentle grace outlives every victory, with nothing left to defend or hide. *** On that day my eyes will gather rain- not for the sorrows we chose to keep, but for the quiet relief of finding a man no longer pretending it never weeps. *** Yet nights still come w...

  I was born from the same dark, tender womb That carried every child into the light, Yet at the third sharp turn into the gloom, My mind abandoned their accepted sight. They drew a narrow map and called it sane, Demanding every spirit trace its lines; Because I wandered through a wilder plain, They crowned my heavy head with tragic signs. The children met my steps with heavy stone, And tore the frayed and thin cloth from my skin; They mocked the fractured world I called my own, And in their cruel joy, I joined within. For laughter is the final, desperate shield A wounded soul will wear before the night, Before it surrenders to the battlefield And remembers how to weep away the light. My wild sobs traveled far beyond my feet; The listening hills gave back my lonely cry. The wind responded down the empty street, Yet human hearts looked on and passed me by. They crossed the road to flee my passing shade, As though a shattered mind could touch their own; It was not madness making them...

  There is nothing left to mark my passing, No name to carve upon enduring stone, No color left to stain the passing wind, No canvas waiting for me to return. The dreamer in me left without farewell, And wandered into forests of deep thought, Where silence grows like ancient, shaded trees And slept beneath the fallen, forgotten leaves. I searched for him through memories and nights, Through dark, quiet corridors of my mind, But only hollow echoes answered back. Time, the quiet poet, wrote his verse on me . The heartbeat of the earth grew soft and slow, As mountains kept what cities soon forgot, And rivers carried away empires' reflections As though their grand existence never was. The sky remained unchanged above our heads, Watching generations arrive in hope, Living with certainty in all they built, Only to depart without explanation. There is no ink to gather new colors, My trembling fingers can no longer guide A gentle brush to believe in beauty, Yet the blank canvas does not ac...

  My life is a map without landmarks, Its lines wandering past where they start, Moving beyond beginnings and ends, Yet I know an unexpected end in my heart. I stand beneath the scorching sun Of endless expectations held so high, As each footprint of my dissolving dreams Fades into the desert's quiet sigh. My deepest dreams ache beyond a mirage- Just close enough to keep me walking on, Yet far enough that I can never touch The distant promise before it is gone. My eyes remain fixed upon the void, Staring into the empty, endless space, While the burning wind steals my silent cry, Sweeping my voice away without a trace. I am a creature born of the desert heat, With a parched throat and weary frame, Wandering between illusion and hope, Searching for rain that remembers my name.

She was never a kingdom, yet they called her one. Not because she wore a crown, but because they dreamed of conquest. They traced invisible borders across the landscape of her body, counting her silence as surrender, mistaking her kindness for an open gate. To some, she was fertile land, a field where they hoped to plant their names, their pride, their legacy, believing love was another form of ownership. They built castles out of promises, raised flags stitched with desire, and wrote laws that praised devotion while quietly demanding obedience. They admired her beauty as kings admire a distant country- not for its songs, its rivers, or its people, but for the glory of possessing it. Yet beneath their maps flowed rivers they could not chart, and beneath their footsteps lay mountains that refused to bow. She learned that a heart is not a throne to be occupied, nor a soul a province to be taxed by another's will. So she gathered the names they had carved upon her, washed them away wi...

  The Solitary Road ****************** I have never walked this winding path before, Nor known what secrets wait on either shore. Before my eyes, the dusty road extends, Into the mist where sight and distance ends. *** Upon the clay, deep footprints mark the ground, Where time keeps watch in silence all around. Before my time, through shadows and through light, Unknown spirits walked into the night. *** Through steep ascents and rocks that bruise the feet, Past rusted iron spikes and blinding heat, I wander slow, with parched and burning lips, As sweat like drink from weary fingers drips. *** So many narrow lanes and shortcuts hide, Yet not a single sign to act as guide. But a weathered stone, worn down by wind and rain, Whispers to me amidst the steady pain: *** "The feet that climbed the mountain's highest peak, Will never fear the valleys, low and bleak." Some paths were paved with glitter, wealth, and praise, Some promised love to brighten weary days. *** Some left th...

  The border was a wound drawn across our blood, A sudden storm that stole the earth we knew. The rivers forgot the songs they once had sung, And the sky no longer felt like home or true. We left our doors, our gardens, and our names, Carrying only memories in our eyes. A home is not made only of walls and flames- It lives where a heart can safely rise. I walked away with nothing in my hand, Yet carried worlds that others could not see. The dust of my homeland followed every step, A silent shadow walking beside me. I became a pillar made of fragile clay, Holding a roof of borrowed skies above. I hid my wounds beneath a quiet smile, And gave my weakness the shape of love. They saw the lamp that brightened up their night, The hands that stitched their broken dreams again. They never saw the darkness inside my soul, Or counted all the tears hidden like rain. I became the river that never stopped flowing, Even when the stones had broken me. I gave my mornings to their tomorrow, And bur...