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sonreyes

n-ehpamoi

And I think right now, the beating of my heart must sound like begging --

Not "please," but "p l e a s e."

Can you tell the difference?

Not asking, but needing, not telling, but pleading --

Each pulse a little more hungry --

It's had a taste, now --

it whispers, "more."

V. Rue, 2025.

bluesandbarebones

Weed

The night we laughed, speaking of impossibilities and irrational decisions grown hastily in dark corners, made me think of what I would have been with someone like you.

In the morning my baby searched the garden for something colorful to wake me up. A single stray dandelion now sits beside my bed, shriveled and dry. I know why it died.

quaintobsessions

Snowdrops and Meltwater

The witch of the woods teaches me simpler words. There’s a book in that, too, she tells me, as I hide in uneasy earth.

The firecrest in the woods calls on me to emerge three times. His song touches this hollow, touches furled petals, touches my slow-heating blood.

Earth in my hands, earth in my hair, earth slipping down across my skin – I stride toward the heart of the woods

and dive in.

doreenchloepoetry

i will meet you as you are.

aubriestar

march

where does my heart find warmth in this third month

that fluctuates in disarray unsure of what is real & how ice can melt with cruelty

cold descends without warning chilling the spirit & freezing words (worlds) in place

as peach blossoms unfold mysteries of spring

unleashed in a medley by wind chimes awakened by a hopeful zephyr

whispers of budding newness

the fragrance of fresh greening & sweet hyacinths

persephone returns & love finds a way to start over again

©️-Aubrie-2025

metamorphesque

"dead doesn't mean absent...", tathev simonyan

somebodyssongbird

Today is a gray day, endlessly cloudy One blanket across the sky The world is smaller now, with that barrier The haze shrouding the sun, the blue The earth is contained under the veil

Under the darkness of the clouds The sun does not beg for engagement We are pardoned of participation A nebula of clouds thrown over earth They say rest, you are allowed to

Ice covered ponds do not shimmer California poppies sleep in Beaches are spared their trodden sands Paint the sky gray and the world sighs Exhale, the day is small and so are we

somebodyssongbird

Sometimes I ruin what I'm trying to say by Making use of Too many Words

n-ehpamoi

Feeling too deeply - thinking too much - and expressing too little -

What's it like, to be grounded?

Tethered to the world you exist in, and, connected to the ones who surround you?

There's a distance I cannot parse -- distance I cannot reconcile with my desire for the closeness I swear that all else, besides myself, seem so easily to create.

I know there are some who wish they could defy gravity, but, defying gravity is all I do -- and at the very fiber of my being, I just,

wish my feet could touch the ground.

"Floating away." V. Rue, 2024.

writing-is-a-martial-art

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

sonreyes-reblogs

All things are matter, all matter is energy, all energy is light, all light is love, all love is God