Fourlinegraphia

Your love was not just a warmath to me- It was a cadence, love’s own soft accord, A boundless devotion that bound my heart, A sacred mantra kept in silent grace. *** I breathed life into its simple script, And suffused each letter with gentle warmth; It lingered softly on my tongue, And found its sanctuary within my embrace. *** You deem my silence a forgotten chime, Yet I could never relinquish the strain; I veiled your name beneath my reserve, For my quietude ever wore your face. *** To utter it still awakens grief, Witnessed by tears in the eye’s quiet edge. This parting once seemed a divine decree, Yet time revealed its heavy toll; *** Your name was once a sweet refrain- Now each syllable rends the air, Exhauster of my fragile soul. You mistake my stillness for neglect, *** Unaware of the weight I bear; For silence remains love’s final guise, Where sacred, aching truths reside. Certain melodies still evoke the sting, *** And ancient wounds refuse to heal; When the world grows cold ...

I want to hold a little hand, To kiss those tender, waiting lips, To feel a tiny heartbeat softly Against my chest through sleepless nights. I want to breathe that newborn scent, To hear those hungry midnight cries, To wake beneath a fading moon And watch my baby open its eyes. I dream of tiny fingers wrapped So warmly, tightly into mine, Of little shoes beside the door, And little clothes upon the line. I dream of cradles gently swaying, Of lullabies beneath the light, Of a quiet home made restless By childish laughter day and night. I want those little muddy feet To race across my courtyard floor, To fall, to laugh, to rise again, And come running through my door. I want those hands stained deep with earth, Those fingers pulling leaves and flowers, A little face turned sulking when I scold its mischief by the hour. I want the clothes pulled from the line, The vessels dragged down from the shelf, The cupboards opened one by one- A little storm all by itself. I want those small hands o...

It is not for you to choose the tool I need, I decide what must be cut and where to bleed. My aim is not the cut, but precision in the art- To know exactly where the blade must start. Perhaps a knife appears in both our minds, But every task demands the tool it finds. Scissors may cut, but cannot do it all- A gardener’s shears won’t trim a lock of hair at all. You cannot cut the vegetable like meat, Nor use the same old blade for every feat. Each cut requires a tool that fits the task- That simple truth is all I ever ask. If lies and rumors are the things you spread, I’ll find the scissors suited to that thread. I’ll cut your tangled fabric of deceit, Till every piece of falsehood knows defeat. Bring out your sword, forged hard within the flame, Hammered from iron, polished for the game. But do not think its edge can touch my pride- My courage is not iron you can slice. Bring all your blades and bring them if you dare, Not merely to shave me, but strip what’s there. Remove the final la...

  You, Somewhere Beyond the Blue **************************** I searched the rivers for you, The quiet lakes, the restless seas, And every ocean, deep and blue, That hides a thousand mysteries. *** I searched for a mermaid fair, With eyes that carried your unknown light, With your imagined face and flowing hair, Yet you remained beyond my sight. *** Perhaps you were never meant to rise, From coral gardens beneath the blue, Perhaps you live where the horizon lies, In a world I cannot travel to. *** Perhaps you stand beyond the sun, Where golden evenings fade from view, Watching me when the day is done, While I stand here, searching for you. *** Each morning, when the sun appears, I speak your name beside the sea, And tell the waves about my fears, And all the love you left in me. *** Each evening, when the sunlight dies, And paints the ocean with its gold, I wonder if, beyond the skies, You watch me waiting, as of old. *** Perhaps you stand beyond the shore, Where sky and ocean touc...

  You need not shed a tear for me again, For I have spent my eyes upon your name; Our dreams were snatched like flesh by circling wings, And I beat my skull against fate’s dark wall. I never heard your footsteps leave my shore, Nor saw you cross the threshold of my home; You sailed away to seek another door, While I was drowning, thinking you would come. A little stream once whispered through my life, Like silver silk beneath a tender moon; It carried dreams as fragile as spun glass, And sang your name beneath the summer moon. But now that stream has swollen into wrath, A blackened river tearing through its bed; It drags the roots of everything I loved, Like corpses from the grave of yesterday. The whirlpools spin like mouths that hunger still, The waves rise tall as walls around my chest; Yet nothing in their fury frightens me- A heart already drowned can fear no death. Uprooted trees come crashing through the flood, Their branches clawing at my broken head; They strike like memor...

  Today I threw the diamond ring away, A promise that had slowly turned to stone; It once spoke of forever, bright as day, But now it only tells me I’m alone. For years I held a black rose to my chest, Its thorns went deeper every time I stayed; I called the suffering a form of love, Until I learned that love should not leave scars. So I pulled every thorn out of my skin, And watched the blood become a memory; Some wounds, like winter, teach the heart to breathe, And some goodbyes are doors to being free. I carry no resentment in my hands, Nor do I need your shadow on my road; A soul that walks away from needless weight Discovers freedom is its lightest load. Go where you choose-to heaven or to hell, The road you take is no longer mine to know; I have released the story we once held, And learned that letting go can heal the soul. You chased the flame of yesterday’s desire, While everything we built began to fade; Like one who follows sparks into the night, You never saw the stars y...

  ************ You killed my children, you wounded the children I loved. You gave them a whip, when they needed a helping hand. You left scars upon their bodies, and deeper wounds inside their minds. You saw their frightened faces and answered their pain with a smile, as though their suffering were something to enjoy. Your dark vision swallowed their night souls. Your hidden smile was never a savior. Sometimes they showed their hands, opening them toward you, hoping for kindness— but you gave them pain instead. You wanted their silence. You wanted their submission. You wanted minds that could be controlled, souls that could be treated like property. But we have no children for sale. We have no souls for slavery. A child is not a slave. Innocence is not a possession. Parenting is a mature human responsibility: to protect, to guide, to listen, to nurture, to hold a child when they are afraid, and to teach them how to stand in freedom. You may leave scars, but you cannot own their fut...