Fourlinegraphia

I have heard defeat arrive not as thunder- but like a snake in dry grass, hissing through slander. / When they could not touch my thought, they reached for my skin, as crows peck at ripe fruit they could never grow. / My name was held to fire like thin gold over flame, tested not for truth but for how much pain it could carry. / I have seen honor hung on women like glass bangles on trembling wrists- bright as festival light, fragile as a lie repeated too long. / And when a man stood like a mountain against the storm of lesser minds, they did not move the mountain- they poisoned the river at its feet, naming his women as weakness. / How strange this old world is: shame circles women like vultures around harvest fields, while pride wears a man’s face but hides in a woman’s wound. / I have known insults that crawled like smoke under doors, sexual words flung like mud at a temple wall, character torn as dogs worry at burial cloth. / But I have learned- when they strike the body because the...

  "Sin begins the moment I abandon what I know is right.” *************** Sin begins the moment I turn away, Not in the fall, but in the sway. No sudden break, no loud descent, Just quiet shifts of small consent. *** A thought I soften, truth I bend, A line I move to ease the end. No witness there, no voice to warn, Yet something fragile comes undone. *** I tell myself it matters less, That ease is peace, that less is rest. But deep within, a knowing stays, Unmoved by all my careful plays. *** For right was never far or dim, It lived within, it spoke within. And every step I chose to stray, Was one I felt-but turned away. *** Yet even here, the path remains, Not lost to time, nor bound in chains. For what I left, I still can find, If I turn back with steady mind. *** Not through shame, nor sudden grace, But quiet truth I choose to face. For sin may start where I depart, But so does healing- in the heart.

  From shores of dreams where I was born, I rose with hope each silent morn. Our past once burned in gunpowder’s flame, Our ancestors lost to plunder and pain. Their struggles live within my soul, To build anew, to make us whole. Through trials, doubt, and heavy gloom, I carved my path-a sonic boom. I rise for people, land, and sky, With strength that will not fade or die. From humblest ground, I take my stand, A force to guard my motherland. Be watchful now, and understand- I’m not a toy at someone’s hand. With science, will, and purpose true, I stand for peace, for me and you. For when we’re strong, no war need come, Peace echoes louder than the drum. And in my heart, my dreams still bloom I rise on wings of sonic boom.

Money is the ruler; pen and pencil merely draw the lines. Yet money can erase every scale, while our boxes stay empty. Money, you are like a wheel, I move in you, bound by feel. Without you, I fade to none, Like a shadow without sun. Money, why you love me not? I am poor, by fate forgot. I write dreams in silent night, Yet earn nothing from my light. In rich halls your bright voice rings, Crowns are bought like common things. In poor streets your absence cries, Hope grows thin and slowly dies. I am just a poet bare, With empty hands and heavy care. Words I weave like threads of gold, Yet my hunger stays untold. We both spin like leaves in air, Turned by time with silent care. Some rise high on golden spokes, Some are crushed beneath your yokes. Names and ranks the world assigns, Measured all in coins and signs. Man is weighed by what he owns, Not by heart or silent groans. Still I ask beneath the sky, Must a dreamer live and die? Is my worth in coins alone, Or in seeds of thought I...

  *************** You stole my sleep like a gentle breeze,   A quiet thief that whispers through trees.   In midnight’s hush, you come and go,   A lost soul no sunlight can show.   ***** They left you in shadows long ago,   In halls where only dark winds blow.   Half alive, caught between night and day,   Living in dreams that drift away.   ***** Yet you- You took my rest without a fight,   And painted skies in my lonely night.   A faint smile grew where sorrow stayed,   You turned my gloom to softer shade.   ***** Your voice, a whisper in the dark,   A fragile light, a tiny spark.   You speak of worlds too loud and bright,   And I wait for you in silent night.   ***** Who are you, that heals my ache?   A ghost or dream, I cannot break.   You say no dawn has called your name,   Just shadows that...

  Write, even when your voice trembles- for somewhere, another poet- is waiting to feel less alone. // You are not a solitary spark, but part of a quiet constellation, each word you write- lighting another unseen star. // Do not chase perfection- chase truth. For the simplest line, born from your soul, can outlive a thousand perfect verses. // Remember, you are not just a writer of words, but a keeper of hearts, a witness to the unseen. // So rise, poet, your voice matters, your silence speaks, and your poem may be- someone’s reason to hope.

  You think you are the first, loud and shown, But I am the last one and only, alone. I don’t chase crowns or beg to be seen, I walk my path-steady, sharp, and clean. *** No echoes I follow, no shadows I trace, I carve my own ending, I set my own pace. Where others seek glory, I simply endure, Complete in myself-final, certain, and sure.