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Joel K 7d
Collaterally damaged.
I took damage to my system.

Using the grit of my finger nails to claw myself into a stable position.
Observing the impact through my palms.

My hands discolored—not bleach.
Discolored.

A damaged nervous system, navigating it like the amazon.
The goals I went to and from are all forgotten because of my accidental backpedaling.

Riding a bike backwards is inferior.
Only going farther away from your destination and all the way back to your shelter.

With all these task in hand…
The success ladder a loopy event.
Like climbing Jacobs Ladder but without the visions of angels and streams of light.
Just something to address when back-paddling occurs and how that feels like, because you don't realize the feeling(s) until you sound it out for yourself.
Versifier0 Aug 11
Wrapped by your scent,
Blinded by your beauty.
You were my sun,
And I was your Icarus.

You and I were like living in our utopia;
You choked reality into me,
Now it's dystopia.
Now it's all past;
A thread of your memories,
Your absence turned into a needle,
And made me bleed.

But still I tried.
I tried and I tried to fly above, to reach you,
So I could get inside your ribcage,
Feel embraced by your flesh and skin.
Maybe then I could connect with your veins;
And I could reach you,
Your heart,
Your brain,
Your everything.

But no, you burned my fragile wings,
And stopped me from reaching you.
And I fell.
As I was falling I saw you devouring me.
My skin burned.
You hid within the crack of my burned skin,
You remain there, with pain intact.
Continue in part II...
Ontem foi seu aniversário
Infelizmente, foi um dia agitado
No entanto, fui ao jardim
Do meu coração nesta linda manhã
Onde colhi uma rosa invisível que poderia trazer:
Felicidade, alegria, bom humor e uma primavera antecipada.

Raspei minha barba e bigode para alegrar o seu dia
De todo o coração, desejo-lhe um feliz aniversário
Oh! Eu gostaria de encantar você até o anoitecer
Quando o arco-íris não estiver mais no outono
Em direção a outro horizonte, para outra estação
Por favor, aceite esta rosa, este poema, esta canção.

P.S.: Este poema é dedicado ao meu bom amigo.

Copyright © Agosto de 2025 Hébert Logerie, Todos os direitos reservados.
Hébert Logerie é autor de várias coletâneas de poesia.
"You are neither here nor there,  
How can you be successful?"—a voice in the air.  
It muttered once, but I heard it thrice,  
A haunting echo, not so nice.  

I reflect deep—could this be me?  
Is it instinct or a mind not free?  
Am I imagining things in vain?  
But he is right, and I feel the strain.  

Jack of all trade and master of none,  
But one who masters will inspire someone.  
Too many tasks leave all half done,  
While one at a time brings work well spun.  

All in one is same as nothing,  
But one in one births everything.  
I do not write this to condemn,  
You can succeed with more than ten.  

But purpose and vision must lead the way,  
Without them, you’re a leaf that sways.  
A man without vision is like a trash,  
Waved by the wind in a reckless dash.  

I’m glad I’ve found my voice at last,  
Through Poetry, wisdom shall be cast.
“The Voice That Spoke” is a soul-searching poem by Nigerian poet Osahenoma Favour Moses, born from a moment of internal reckoning. It begins with a haunting voice—an echo of doubt—that challenges the poet’s scattered pursuits across multiple creative paths: acting, preaching, storytelling, and poetry. Through rhythmic reflection and layered wisdom, the poem explores the tension between versatility and focus, urging readers to discover their true calling and nurture it with purpose.

This piece is more than a confession—it’s a call to clarity. It speaks to anyone who feels stretched thin by ambition, reminding them that success is not in doing everything, but in doing something well. With poetic precision, Favour casts light on the importance of vision, identity, and intentional growth.

“The Voice That Spoke” is part of his growing body of work known as Wisdom in Poetry—a genre where truth meets verse, and insight flows through rhythm.
Joel K Aug 8
In a fallen state.**

Looking at friends and family—
Seeking guidance in their daily lives.

They struggle with losses they are too ashamed to
share all because of their psyche.

If I interact I am nosy.
If I complain I am stubborn.

I can't mind my own business because of our connections.
————————
I investigate relentlessly and ask nothing but questions.

In my own world…
I spend my time in a delirious state—
Some would describe it as a ticking time bomb.

Like trends that never end.
Better yet addictions.

Some days are like picnics with an abundance of food—
The rest of the week is comparable to dew coming as a signal to the crack of a thunderstorm, soaking everything in water.

I stretch my youth out in limbo.
A perfect pause for—
“The Scream.”

I writhe in my downfalls with droplets of rain devising my tears like water going through pipes.

I can say…

Many of you suffer the same way and are confused in your youth.

With feelings for one another.
Our sympathy does not support the struggles of being different.

As it is now…there is a distance between you and me.
And there is nothing more to do than wait for your brush to be revitalized.

Your strokes would radiate the board with colors, colors so vibrant they make a pedestrian walk back the second time.

Knowingly, I cannot watch over you….
So I will look you directly in the eyes as I will tell you this.
I am writing this after feeling like my efforts in certain categories are hard to overcome and realizing that it is the same for a majority of people around me.
my extremities are bound to your mahogany desk - what seems to be your working space. for the first time they are rendered purposeless, just drifting in your current like a priceless tonic. heavy torrents out there but i can't hear them. i know no amount of downpour can water down the sinful scarlet we caught ourselves into. we're about to roam wild and free tonight, where only my mind could reach.

so you commanded me to be on all fours, leaving gaps between my lips:
"spit...
spit out poetry and banters into my mouth.
spit...
spit out bitter truth that is hard for the night to bear.
i'm all ears, but im not sure if my heart can take it."

with you, i become my own libertine.
Hex
No savage charm
no ancient witches hex,
no juju whispered low,
no knuckle bones to throw
or runic text to read and call you to your fate
poets have no powers,
no dark and evil incantations,
we weave a net of words
and lure you in with our creations
We live daily -
  each time we choose hope over hurt,
  each time we begin again
  with every breath living a dream

  Death?
  It knocks just once-
  a final hush,
  a curtain call.

  But life -
  life is a myriad scenes
  a million sighs
  and infinite awakenings
  
  So, live and just Live.
  for dying is brief -
  but living is where eternity quietly hides....
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