#13cupsofteareblog

[soulreserve]

Driftwood

You are clear wind, playing into the shadows. From the open into the rushes. Here evenings feed you on moon's gentle light. Here daytime sun shimmers upon your body, a golden token. You shouldn't be here in this world, but I have tugged and brought you with me. Opened you up into old wounds that ooze Marri's red kino. Into thick tufts of banksia flowers that blossom painted wood-like petals into organised architecture of immense perfection.

How upon your journey beyond death, from redwood to here, you've lost familiarity. You've become a figment that grows roots deep like eucalyptus. And flakes bark after bark into sheeted paperbark lacework. And stands bent at the knees in sweet lake water lapping at language, speaking to me in tongues.

I have learnt with you how love loses shape after loss, becomes air, becomes an image that haunts in tender vivid ways.

You, driftwood grief, and I, slowly drifting towards you. © SoulReserve 2026

[bluestthingsonearth]

a poem about stillness.

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

did i tell you that you are the absence of chaos?

not the calm that comes after the storm, but the silence that makes the storm forget it ever existed. when you are near, even my ruin pauses to listen. every thought that once screamed inside me softens into something almost gentle.

you are not rescue. you are not salvation. you are the quiet between my disasters.. the proof that peace can exist, even if it is borrowed, even if it flickers.

and yet, that is what makes it terrifying. to know that my body, so used to trembling, now flinches at the stillness. that i have grown to crave the ache of calm, knowing it might vanish the moment i name it.

still, i would say it again. you are the absence of chaos, and somehow, that feels like love.

at least, it felt like it was. at least, it felt like you were.

— jv orongan [elegies upon your gravestone]

[iamjimekuto]

Missing days where I write

non-stop, almost daily like

I have a muse of some sort,

but life and work collided.

I almost have no time to

write, most especially

since the last part of my

novel got erased for no reason.

I need to find for my muse, no,

inspiration to write beautifully

again and daily so I don't seem

like a ghost on here.

Some one please send help.

Lifeless Writer.

G.C. © | 04•30•26

[lamentationsofasunflower]

you’re an empty well

and the wishes have all dried up

i’m out of change anyway

you’ll never have enough

you convinced me i was ordinary

that you were worth the cost

but i see to the bottom

i can’t lose what’s already lost

happy endings aren’t in stone

drafts aren’t the stories that live

love cannot come from a fountain

that never had it to give

after the math

-mj

[pelicandensity]

A Grace From Fall

autumn is

the season

of my soul

a gown of

golden

colors

that

honor

change

and

new

beginnings

[devinetheory-2]

It wasn't the words he used

Or the way he arranged them

That built the pathway

To her soul

It was the courage he had

That gave him the willingness

to dive

Into his own madness

To gain the perspective

And harness the intensity

Of the darkness

That had been cast upon

his own soul

Just so he could let it loose

Amongst the page

Like a tattooed story

Written in shadows

On the most intimate parts

of her skin

So she would have

parts of him

That noone else

would ever know...

DT

@starlightstruckdown

[heartweary-writing]

There’s a pulsation,

A bloom,

A sunrise

A rush

of spring water

Breaking loose

After a winter’s icy noose.

My heart beats,

Hummingbird’s wing.

I glow, a flower of my own,

And blush-

Frightened and unsure

But unable to hush

The song that must

Be sung:

I love,

And am loved,

So every battle to be met,

Shall be a battle won.

J. K. L