We create our dreams in quiet light.
Making tiny flames from the dark.
Under everyone else's noise, our voices grow—
Soft acts of rebellion in the changing night.
We sew our truths with careful hands.
Building places no map can show.
Words become the breath we hold.
A watchful stand while others are bold.
No doubt can stop the fire we hold.
No shadow can stop the tide from getting bold.
Because we are made of strength and spirit—
A quiet power that changes the world.
No critic can change what we make;
Our art lives outside their space.
We write because our hearts demand it—
A new universe every time we stand.
About the Creator
Emily
Poem lover, word collector, and believer in the quiet magic of language. I write to remember, to heal, and to find beauty in the spaces between silence and sound. Every poem is a heartbeat — a small proof that feelings can become art.
Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin6 days ago in Humor
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