SILENT HOMES
Silence
cloak of protection
worn longing for
heaven
sways in dust
settles
wistful
plays hide
......
Many who enter our lives
pass through without leaving a mark.
They may have once been important,
you may have even loved them,
but once gone, they’re gone.
But there are others who,
when they’re gone, for whatever reason,
create a wound.
It’s as if a piece of the puzzle
that was you has been taken.
......
Love is the light of the Almighty,
Rising softly in the heart, greeting the soul,
Flowing like a river in the valley of life,
Bringing hope to life amidst despair.
It is present without form, but felt,
Erasing wounds, stringing together hopes,
Uniting souls that were once separated,
In the arms of love that never tires.
......
Secrets are secret
Truth cannot expound
Everything is vanity
No comfort to be found
Truth is relative
or so it is, they say
Life for us is short
no time to dry the hay
......
I bleed words out of my heart again,
a slow, rhythmic pulse of syllables,
spilling onto the pristine canvas of paper.
Each drop, a testament to the ache within,
as hope pushes the edge of my chest again.
I write in the language of longing,
a tender melody of ink and pain,
weaving verses like delicate tapestries
that whisper of love's transient touch.
......
SILENT HOMES
Silence
cloak of protection
worn longing for
heaven
sways in dust
settles
wistful
plays hide
......
Many who enter our lives
pass through without leaving a mark.
They may have once been important,
you may have even loved them,
but once gone, they’re gone.
But there are others who,
when they’re gone, for whatever reason,
create a wound.
It’s as if a piece of the puzzle
that was you has been taken.
......
Secrets are secret
Truth cannot expound
Everything is vanity
No comfort to be found
Truth is relative
or so it is, they say
Life for us is short
no time to dry the hay
......
Love is the light of the Almighty,
Rising softly in the heart, greeting the soul,
Flowing like a river in the valley of life,
Bringing hope to life amidst despair.
It is present without form, but felt,
Erasing wounds, stringing together hopes,
Uniting souls that were once separated,
In the arms of love that never tires.
......
I bleed words out of my heart again,
a slow, rhythmic pulse of syllables,
spilling onto the pristine canvas of paper.
Each drop, a testament to the ache within,
as hope pushes the edge of my chest again.
I write in the language of longing,
a tender melody of ink and pain,
weaving verses like delicate tapestries
that whisper of love's transient touch.
......