Poem 028

When daylight fades beyond the distant trees,

We find our strength within the midnight breeze.

No golden sun is needed for our flame,

For darkness teaches us to know our name.


Where others fear the silence closing in,

We hear the quiet calling us to begin.

The colder air may settle on our skin,

Yet something warmer gathers deep within.


We learn to stand where softer things would bend,

To let the broken pieces start to mend.

The shadows strip away what we once knew,

And leave behind what still remains true.


No eyes are there to witness what we do,

No voice to tell us what we should pursue.

We grow beyond the reach of borrowed light,

And slowly learn to flourish through the night.


The deepest roots are hidden from the sky,

Yet underneath, they strengthen as they lie.

And what appears to sleep beneath the ground

May rise one day more radiant and profound.


So let the darkness gather at the door,

We are not who we were before.

For every hour that once concealed our light

Has taught our hearts to kindle their own night.


And when the morning finally comes in view,

We'll bring the strength the darkness grew in us too.


The beauty of poetry lies in its ability to be open to multiple meanings. Keep your thoughts to yourself or share them here - I'd love to hear how this poem resonates with you.

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Poem 027

A girl chased a lantern that floated ahead,

Through forests of whispers where moonlight was spread,

She thought if she caught it, she'd finally know,

The place she was meant to arrive at and go,

So onward she followed wherever it led.


But dawn came too quickly and dimmed its bright flame,

The lantern grew distant and altered its name,

She stood in the clearing with nothing to chase,

Then saw golden sunlight spill over the place,

And realized she had arrived just the same.


The journey had given her more than the light,

It taught her to walk through the depths of the night,

She no longer needed one beacon to guide,

For she carried a spark that was burning inside,

And followed its glow toward the morning's wide sight.


The beauty of poetry lies in its ability to be open to multiple meanings. Keep your thoughts to yourself or share them here - I'd love to hear how this poem resonates with you.

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Poem 025

A frozen window catches threads of white,

Drawn by an unseen hand throughout the night,

Each branch appears, then slowly disappears,

A fleeting kingdom made of frozen tears,

Too delicate to last for many years.


No seed was buried underneath the floor,

No careful gardener opened up a door,

Yet beauty found a place to take its form,

And held its ground against the winter storm,

As though the cold itself could keep it warm.


Perhaps the things we hide are made this way,

They need the quiet shelter of the gray,

They gather strength beyond the public eye,

And only bloom when noise has passed us by,

Then fade before the world can ask us why.


The beauty of poetry lies in its ability to be open to multiple meanings. Keep your thoughts to yourself or share them here - I'd love to hear how this poem resonates with you.

Read more