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The Summit
They never see the climb —the way your hands bledagainst the stone,how your breath brokein the thin air of doubt,how the wind whispered, Turn back —and still, you rose. They only see you standing here,bathed in the sun of your arrival,but you remember the shadows —the nights stitched with fear,the weight of every almost-fall,the ache…
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What If We’re All Just Passing Through?
What if the moments we cling toare only echoes —ripples on waterthat forget our touch? What if the people we loveare constellations —close enough to light our waybut too far to hold? What if every “forever” we promiseis just sand —shaped by wind,washed by tide,never still? And what if that’s okay?What if beauty lives in…
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The Shape of Dreams
Dreams are not soft things.They have edges — sharp enough to cut,corners where fear hides,and curves that bend like hope. Some dreams are circles —endless, looping,spinning you in want until you’re dizzy. Some are stars —burning too bright,too far,but still you reach. And some…some are just shadows —the shape of what you lost,what you almost…
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The Quiet Ones
They sit at the edge of the room,hearts loud — voices silent.Dreamers behind tired eyes,fighters without fists. The world calls them shy —but they are storms,whispers made of thunder,and you will hear them…when they’re ready. Back to Home Page or Search Poetry Catergories
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