Fourlinegraphia

  She turned from an offered rose one dawn, Its crimson promise left undone; And where its tender fragrance fell, A silent kingdom lost its spell. *** Summer unfolded its golden wings, Yet dust gathered on forgotten things. Letters slept in a Himalayan cedar chest, Pressed with petals and unrest; Their fading words, like tides withdrawn, Left only traces they had worn. *** Beneath an autumn lamp there stood A weathered bench of aging wood. The wind rehearsed old melodies Among the darkening apple trees; Where laughter might have lingered long, Only shadows learned the song. *** One evening, under amber skies, She watched a pair of swallows rise. Twig by twig, their fragile art Wove a shelter, heart to heart. The nest beneath the cottage eave Held all she could not yet believe. *** Across the fields young children run and played, Untroubled by the lengthening shade. The earth spoke softly through the years Of love abandoned to its fears; And every leaf that touched the ground Whispe...

  I learned to smile with storms in my chest, to wear sunlight over a sky that never rested. Every morning I stitched myself together, thread by thread, secret by secret. // There were nights when the silence grew teeth, and memories wandered through my veins like fire. I chased escapes disguised as freedom, mistaking falling for flying. // Then came moments-brief and blinding- when the world glowed beneath my skin. Streetlights became constellations, and my heartbeat sang louder than reason. // I called it happiness. I called it being alive. I called it everything I had been searching for. // But euphoria is a beautiful liar; it paints gold over broken walls, turns echoes into symphonies, and convinces me I am endless. // Still, somewhere between the highs and the wreckage, I found a quieter truth: I am not the rush, not the fall, not the ghosts that follow me home. // I am the one who survives them. // And though my hands still tremble when tomorrow knocks at the door, I walk tow...

Seed the thought, a treasure sown, Like a tiny star not yet fully known. Plant the seed, let courage start, Shape the clay, and build the art. Mold the clay with patient hands, Like a river shaping distant lands. Set it true in mind and heart, For every masterpiece must start. A spark is struck, the flame burns bright, Like dawn that gently conquers night. To make, to mold, to shape it right, Turn dreams to wings and take to flight. Yesterday you created, today create still, Like a mountain rising through strength and will. Each small step, though slow it seems, Builds the bridge between goals and dreams. The seed becomes a flowering tree, The clay becomes what eyes can see. The spark becomes a guiding light, For those who dare and those who fight. So sow your thoughts and play your part, With steadfast hands and a hopeful heart. Create your path, your song, your way, And shape a brighter world each day. 

  A day postpartum, I slept upon my mother's chest. I did not know her fears, I did not know her tears. I only knew the rhythm of her heart. " "I was her tomorrow." " My tiny fingers wrapped around her hand, and she whispered promises I was too young to understand. But I believed every one of them. . As months passed, I learned to smile when she smiled, to laugh when she laughed, to reach for her whenever I was afraid. " "She was my whole world.' ." I never saw the shadows growing inside her. I never understood the distance. I never knew why the warmth began to fade. . "I was only a child." . Then new footsteps entered our lives. New voices filled the rooms. The grown-ups spoke a language I could not understand- . "A language of secrets, of desires, of choices." . Still, I waited by the door. Still, I stretched out my arms. Still, I called for the people I loved most. . "Because children do not know betrayal. Children ...

  *********************** They count the houses, count the years, They count the laughter and the tears; They measure wealth, they measure land, And all the works of human hands. **** Yet every life contains a part No census finds, no charts impart: The hidden landscape of the soul, Where silent reckonings unfold. **** If I were asked to take the count, I would seek a different amount. I'd ask each heart about its pain, The hopes it lost, the dreams that remain. **** I'd measure sorrow, room by room, The hidden grief that walks in gloom; I'd count the wounds no eyes reveal, The silent hurts that never heal. **** But suffering is not all we hide; There is another truth inside: The little sins that pass unseen, Between what is and what has been. **** The sharp reply we should have kept, The promises that overslept; The gentle word we thought-but forgot, The helping hand we offered not. **** No crimson crimes, no broken laws, Just human nature's softer flaws; A fleeting en...

  Look closely at this broken world, Where silent flags remain unfurled. The wars of nations first begin Inside the quiet hearts of men. *** Each cruel act starts silently, Each throne is built through loyalty. Each mighty empire starts to fall When truth exhausts the hearts of all. *** The end need not arrive with flame, Or thunder crying out its name. Sometimes it walks with silent feet, Through minds grown tired and incomplete. *** Through indifference cold and deep, Through endless noise that numbs our sleep, Through consciences that slowly fade Like dying lamps beneath the shade. *** And then they offered paradise: A world untouched by grief or vice. “No hunger here, no tears, no pain, No fear, no loss, no death, no shame." *** Come "worship, serve, obey, belong, And life itself will flow like song.” The weary souls believed the lie Like birds that trust a darkened sky. *** Behind the holy golden frame The hidden red beam softly came. It wore a mask of spotless white And...

  And yet- Somewhere, A stranger still helps another stranger. A mother still sings over a sleeping child. A tired hand still plants a tree Whose shade it may never live to see. . Somewhere, A soul still chooses kindness When cruelty would be easier. . Perhaps that is how humanity survives: Not through power, Nor through conquest, But through small acts of light Refusing surrender to the dark. . So let us not become Machines wrapped in flesh, Or crowds without conscience, Or minds without mercy. . Let us remain human. Let us question loudly, Love deeply, And stand guard over truth Even when truth stands alone. . For if meaning dies completely, The world will continue turning- But humanity will already be gone. . And history will remember us Not as monsters, Not as gods, But as a civilization That had everything Except wisdom.