Once glory is at my front
It vanishes
Faster than gale wind
Doesn't care of
Consistency, hard work, persistence
Merciless
Doesn't care if your shattered
Whether you smiled today
It doesn't
When I come to glory...
It disappears

How is it at the peak ?
Tears need answers
Grasping to the last inch
Battling with rage
Pursued glory countless
At the doorstep, it disappears

Envy luck and blessing

At the foyer
Curled in agony
In a ray of sunlight
In silence

Shall it be a mystery ?

I'm not a poet
Don't speak the language

Death follows (a lantern-lit, moss-draped carriage)
Offers me a ride (so kind)
But it's not my time (for—for;
give me,
get me)

I'm not a tortured soul
Just trying to be understood

Please? Won't someone save me?
(Where—
oh
where—
am... I?)

I'm just writing on this journey to the end

Some people crash into your life
like waves in a storm
while others slip in
with the rising tide.  
Some leave
like water slowly receding
stealing the sand under your feet
and some
are just suddenly gone
like the ground beneath you
when you step off the ocean ledge
into the abyss
where no light penetrates
and there is no direction,
where the pressure of your grief
is unending
and drowning
is what you are doing
every second
and those seconds are all you know.

Everything’s burning down around me
As I walk through this path on fire
I meet at the end a mirror
Only to find myself holding the torch
The heat feels great
The bridges finally burned
My mind at ease
For this I yearned

I fell for him, not in whispers or sighs,
But in crescendos, in rhythms, in skies
Painted with notes that danced in the air,
Each song a thread of the love we’d share.

He wasn’t just music—he was the sound,
The hum of the earth, the pulse underground.
A genre, a chord, a tune soft and true,
Would echo his soul, would carry his hue.

But now he is gone, and silence remains,
A hollow refrain, a ghost in the strains.
Yet when music plays, I’m drawn to the year,
I search for a sign he might have been near.

Did he hum this tune? Did he hear this beat?
Did it brush his soul? Was it his retreat?
The thought is a comfort, though bittersweet,
A harmony bridging where life and death meet.

For love like this does not fade away,
It lingers in songs, in chords that replay.
So I listen, I wonder, I dream him alive,
Through melodies where his spirit survives

pets can be so gentle  loving and so kind
when in times of trouble help to ease your mind
they will comfort you help troubles go away
always there for you they will always stay

giving you there love giving it for free
there inside there heart love will always be
each and everyday they are there for you
to make you smile again when your feeling blue

Once there was nothing
But nothing
Wasent having that
It wanted to be something
Something other than nothing
Yet there was nothing
And that should have been the end of that
Then there was something
So nothing must have worked it out.

How do you grieve for the living?
Knowing that they live under the same sky?
See both the sun and stars shine?
Looks at the world differently than you do.

How do you grieve for those that have lost their way?
The ones that never wanted to stay?
Those that made homes out of your souls?
Those who slipped and fell?
The ones with their wings clipped?

There's an ache in your heart that makes it hollow.
Where that person used to be.
You walk the hallways of the house,
Reliving every memory.
Every hazy daydream.
Every Late-night conversation.
Every fight and fallout.

How do you continue on?
When pieces of themselves are scattered.
On the floor like a jigsaw puzzle.
Only you can't put the pieces back together again.

Each piece is a reminder of the way you laughed.
Each piece is a day you hold on to.
Each piece was a thought they had once.
Each piece is now a little bent and broken too.

How do you undo this kind of damage?
When it was never yours to fix in the first place.
How do you grieve for the living?
As their name gets stuck in your throat.
As you think you see them in strangers on street corners.
Capture a whiff of their scent.
The colour of their hair.
An outfit they would have picked.

Everybody talks about the dead with such respect.
What about those that have slipped through the cracks?
Became somebody nobody no longer wants to know.
With nobody to be there when they cried.
What happens to these lost souls?

Misfits?
Troublemakers?
Escape Artists?
Criminals?

All are just labels.
As you try to tear them off.
Showing society who they once were,

Nobody cares.
Nobody listens.
Nobody wants to know.
Nobody but you.
Can see their potential.

How do you continue living?
When you're not grieving for the dead?
But somebody else instead?

All alone.
Breathless and confused.
Looking at a photograph.
Of a person you once knew.