Fourlinegraphia

From distant gaze, you shine with radiant grace, Like dawn that gilds the edges of the sky. Your tender smile enchants the longing heart, And draws us close, as tides obey the moon. But standing near, your laughter splits the air, A thunder crack that shatters sacred calm. Revealed beneath,your teeth are stained with night, As though the dark itself has learned to bleed. Within your charm, a silent serpent coils, Its venom masked in honeyed, gentle words. Your voice, like fire in sacred scripture cast, Still lures the lost like moths unto their end. Desire burns in you, a restless flame, And war resounds within your beating pulse. A beauty fierce, yet cloaked in false divine, A storm disguised within a house of prayer. Yet I have seen beyond your shining veil, A truth no shadow dares to hide for long. I bear a strength, a quiet binding force, To break your hold and strip your borrowed light. For every soul you crushed beneath your will, For every cry that vanished into dust, I draw a c...

  “Peace is often not genuine calm or harmony. It is a kind of numbness or illusion created after violence, pain, and sacrifice.” ********************* What we call “peace” is not pure - it is something fermented from suffering. Sacred words are placed in vessels, mixed with human blood, burned, buried, dissolved, turned into something else  and when we consume it, the numbness we feel is what we name as peace. >>> The world can cut and bleed, and peace from bitter seeds grows, In quiet after dreams, from shadows and from screams it flows. *** A sorrow steeped so slow in wounds we hide and vows we keep, Words once so pure and bright now stained in endless nights run deep. *** Sacred words rest in vessels, truths we cannot deny still, Mixed with what life has torn, with weary hearts it bends our will. *** Burned and broken away, then buried deep in hidden ground, Lost within time itself, where silent pain will not be found. *** At last it turns anew, from all the trial...

  I used to have a room with corners that remembered me. Walls that heldthe warmth of names, a window where the sun arrived gently- like it knew me. Now, the sky is my ceiling,wide, careless, never the same twice. The pavement does not keep memories- only footsteps that forget me as soon as they pass. I build my “room” out of shadows at night, a doorway from cardboard and hope, a roof from borrowed sleep. People walk by like closed doors. Their eyes- windows that never open. But still, in the quiet between noises, I gather small things: a kind glance, a half-smile, the warmth of tea held too long in my hands. And somehow, in this endless nowhere, I carry a room inside me fragile, invisible, but mine. Not made of walls,but of what I refuse to lose.   "Though walls may fade and corners blur,   the heart's own room remains pure, sure,   crafted not of stone or wood, but grace-  an everlasting, sacred place."         

  I was a seed at dawn-my life began, Beneath the soil where quiet hope once ran. I came, I saw, I breathed the silent air, A fleeting whisper,here, then nowhere. >>> With every sun, I rose and learned to grow, I felt the winds and rains I’d come to know. The world I saw was brief and full of light, A fragile dance that faded into night. >>> My life moved on in ways I’d never know, Like grains of dust through open hands it’d flow. In shadowed steps, I drifted out of sight, A silent rhythm fading into night. >>> I came and went like mist at break of day, My colors dimmed, my edges slipped away. A fleeting breath, a form that could not stay, A shadow lost along the quiet way. >>> I turned within and from the world I hid, A voiceless echo of the life I lived. A memory soft lingering in shade, A distant trace that slowly starts to fade. >>> Yet in my loss, a quiet grace I find, A gentle peace that lingers in the mind. For as I fade, I feel a...

  Grave flowers rise where quiet stones remember, Bright blooms that carry neither scent nor pride. I walk among the rows of silent sleepers, And feel the breath of stories in the soil. *** Why do these blossoms grow without their fragrance? Perhaps the earth has drunk their tears too long. Beneath this ground lie hearts that once were burning, With love for others, hopes the world forgot. *** Some lived their lives in service of another, And gave their light like candles in the wind. Their gentle deeds were scattered through the seasons, Yet time has sealed their names beneath the dust. *** I stand and think how fragile life can wander, How pride and anger fade before the grave. No gold remains, no crown survives the silence- Only the weight of kindness that we gave. *** These flowers teach a quiet human lesson: That life is brief, but goodness travels far. The hands that heal, the words that guard another, Outlive the noise of power and of fame. *** Sometimes I feel these blossom...

  I was a rose beneath the sun, Waiting for a hummingbird’s gentle flight. My petals opened just for you, Holding my nectar, soft and bright. Each dawn I hoped your wings would pause, That you would rest your heart in mine. But winds kept calling you away To other blooms along the vine. I loved you more than words could say, Yet love should never beg to stay. A rose must guard her silent pride, Not lose herself along the way. So I will not bend to the ground, Nor plead for wings that choose to roam. My petals carry quiet strength- A lonely rose still stands her own. The love I gave was never wrong, It proved the depth my heart could grow. And somewhere in this endless garden A kinder bird may someday know. For after storms and falling rain, The sky returns both calm and blue. New blossoms wake in gentle light, And love will find the heart that’s true. Do not bend to touch the ground, For someone who won’t turn around. Love was never meant to be A chain that steals your dignity.

  Today the candles count to one hundred and two,   yet you sit before them,silent, calm-  like time itself has paused, breath held,   to listen to the quiet strength of your soul. >>> Father,   I am the single branch   that grew from your patient seasons,   the fragile bloom nurtured by your unwavering care.   In the garden of your years,   I was the seed you chose to water   with the vastness of your sky,   the gentle rain of your hopes. >>> Your hands! oh, your hands-   they are maps of love,   rivers of wrinkles flowing with stories   from worlds I’ve never seen,   yet when they hold mine,   they still feel like the first shelter,   the warmest refuge I ever knew. >>> One hundred and two birthdays   have traced your path-  each a testament to quiet resilience,   yet your voi...