I came at dusk, when air was still, and found the orchard overgrown. The trees leaned close upon the hill— their fruit had ripened, then had flown.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzalesabout a year ago in Poets
I stepped beyond the hush of air, where shadows bloom and lanterns fade. The light was there, yet not quite there— a shimmer born of what I made.
The trail grew thin; the stars grew strange. Their silver voices fell to sleep. I walked through air that would not change, where thought was shallow, sound was deep.
**Four Days of Love** Four days of love, a whispered dream, A fragile world, a sparkling gleam. Promises shimmered, like colors so bright,
By Saffron Realmabout a year ago in Poets
on the 5th, we bought red mumson the 9th, we had to put our cat downon the 9th, at some pierwind gusting hair in my facei wrote thisand hoped the wind would take away some of the pain:
By Alexandria Stanwyckabout a year ago in Poets
The leaves are falling The trees are disappearing What should I do now? It is dreams pressing on my head What remains now?
By ahmedibrahemabout a year ago in Poets
When all the stars forget to burn, and night forgets her borrowed name, the last lantern will still return— its glow the heart of every flame.
At dusk, I walk the orchard rows— the air still sweet with apple rain. The trees breathe stories no one knows, their roots remembering his name.
I set a lantern on the stream, its flame a single, trembling word. The river answered like a dream— a hymn too soft to be unheard.
Preface The drawing of Jesus hung in the parish hall of the Episcopal church I attended as a child from the early 1970’s until it closed its doors 30 years later.
By JM Hess | One Sojournerabout a year ago in Poets
In the Shadow of the West, where mountains remember the names of the dead and stars carry their voices across the sea, I stood graveside.
I hear them in the hush between, where wind and wonder meet. Their echoes thread through roots unseen, through rhythm, rain, and wheat.
