"There is a silence older than sorrow." There is a silence older than the grave, it waits in shadows, humming where we go.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 months ago in Poets
"The stars remember. The Earth records." The stars remember what the soul has lost, the nightjar sings where silence learns to stay.
"The White Flame never dies. It transforms, it rises again." The flame endures, though ashes veil its face, a fire reborn within the darkened song.
"The wind paused to hear you breathe. The soil remembered your footsteps." The wind still pauses where your breath once lay,
"Between loss and remembrance lies a realm of silent echoes." Between the worlds, the silence holds its song, a voice half-gone, yet lingering in stone.
Mother f- Mother f- Mother f- through my mask— feel my seethe my teeth grate like chalk on a board, aluminium
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
“Frost is the hand that teaches the body its boundaries.” The chill reaches me before the snow. It settles into the marrow of my hands,
“The wind remembers both silence and song.” A wind moves through the branches, not the chatter of autumn sparrows, but the hollow cry of spaces left behind.
“Every current dreams of the sea, even as frost binds its mouth.” The river exhales fog, a low lament, its sorrow heavy on the air:
“The heavens are a lantern, and winter trims the flame.” Above me the sky gathers its cloak, clouds knotting thick as wool,
“Even the roots know what silence foretells.” The maples whisper as their blood retreats, sap slipping into roots like secrets carried below,
Moon, I know your song rides with her— the lady on the white horse, her hair flowing like rivers of milk, her voice like silver rain.
