that has been my experience as well.... we share that experience.......we will walk through this and your poem gives me courage... i am so grateful you shared it with me. Thank you.
Those termites make me think of something that you cannot get rid of, which is everywhere, which permeates every spot left open — like a flood swallows a garden, it works on your soul… no way out … except from what? I need to reread it, or else I’ll wonder: where’s the hope?
Ah, there is a longing for a distant place the name of which faded away by the dust of many ordinary days, covered in emptiness. But, out there, it (or the one you were dreaming of) still waits for you… what a lovely idea!
Hmmm you're absolutely there... termites never erase all at once it just let you feel it.. I'm glad you've liked it😊Lots of thanks for your thoughtful read😊It means a lot 😊😊😊
What stayed with me most was the line, “I miss myself, my spotless heart.” It gives the poem its deepest ache: the search is not only for a destination, but for the part of the self that seems to have been lost beneath memory, responsibility, and betrayal.
The termites become a powerful image of what works quietly within us, wearing away certainty while we continue moving. And yet the poem does not surrender to decay. It keeps reaching toward the possibility that what we seek may already be living within us.
Thank you so much for reading with such depth and feeling every word😊😊 Indeed, it's that quiet, invisible wear-and-tear a lot of us carry, and the hope that we can somehow find our way back to who we used to be... and I'm a quite stubborn type of person... and giving up is still unchecked in my todo list. But, I'm so glad you're here with such beautiful words😊😊I really appreciate it😊😊😊
“Thinking of the One” and the termites piercing the heart—such deep, haunting imagery. I could almost hear the quiet destruction happening beneath the surface and see it eating away at what once felt solid. This whole piece feels like walking through an abandoned house of the self, still searching for the sacred thing that never actually left. Beatification ❤️
Thankyou so so much for such a beautiful description😊😊the abandoned house of the self...that's the essence😊😊 You heard the exact quiet cracking and hollowness I was trying to capture. It means so much to know you felt the haunting nature of that search.😊😊 Lots of thanks for walking through those rooms with me.😊😊 I really appreciate your presence and such thoughtful words.😊😊😊
Cheap glasses over a broken world is such a stubborn kind of hope. The termites keep chewing where nobody can see, but your swords are still waiting, and the person beneath all that dust has not vanished. I hope the home you find knows you before you have to explain yourself at the door.
So kind of you😊How thoughtfully you've tracked the warrior here... hopes that just wanna fade needs a stubborn human😊😊Lots of thanks for your beautiful read here😊😊I truly appreciate😊😊😊
the above line... I've been writing poems about this so much lately. Haven't posted them yet though...
The poem, I'll admit, was just a little distressing as I read it. (I thought you were writing about a difficult time you are experiencing right now.) However, I was only disturbed until I read your author's note at the end and better understood the meaning of the poem.
And no matter whether the poem had pertained to my friend or whether it was something you wrote for another reason, It's a very, very good poem. No surprise here.
Oh that's so sweet of you😊 It's distressing time forever...but I'll fight it up 😊Thankyou so so much for your care and love😊It means a lot😊😊😊I'm so glad you're here😊Looking forward for your uploads... Hope you're doing well😊😊That line is hopeful for me...
This is an incredible lonely journey defined by the weight of woe hanging—short of despair. There is angst, a struggle to be: seen, heard, recognized, loved. I followed the journey of pain and history that calls to be relived yet it cannot. We write myths and choose new identity apart from constraint. I loved this:
The shade of my shoes brings every halt.
But I keep moving,
dragging afar,
walking with bones,
burdens, and loads.
These shoulders have grown tired.
How do I take the weight…
off my heart?
The images here remind me of the death of spiritual being, the dry bones of Ezekiel-will these bones live? If you say so, God. I think the burdens and loads remind me that is not possible to hold onto to things, even emotional baggage, and truly be free. That image reminded me of Pilgrim's Progress and the journey to the Celestial City, we take nothing to the next life. And there are seasons when striving reduces us, or at least the the exertion in the figuring out before we realize, the baggage isn't ours to carry, nor the drama, nor the dysfunction or the image we are often given as identity by others.
We can only bear what was given before we arrived in birth, imago Dei. The weight in life is often heavy, grief and sorrow are the raw reality, mourning brings us to the next season with the imprint of all that was, is (often the recognition of loss) and what will be. There is a gentleness in the season of rest that calls the destruction to cease being the harm and begin being the lens from which we observe a different reality.
I was reminded of the heavy laden burden we are to lay down and the yoke of ease that we may share with Him. I will reread this piece. Thank you for sharing a fracture of heart, and the revelation of moving one boot at a time forward— that gave a posture of the will of survival most may not imagine.
Awww this is so so beautiful😊😊 Thanks a lot for reading the essence with such depth... from the heavy, bone-weary struggle all the way to the quiet grace of laying the burden down😊 Your thoughts on stripping away imposed identities, the imagery of Ezekiel's dry bones, and realizing that so much of the weight isn't even ours to carry, it's like you've just read my mind and presented it clearer than I could. 😊Thankyou so much for bringing such gentleness to the conversation. 😊It means a lot to share this journey with someone who truly understands the weight of a single step forward. 😊😊I truly appreciate😊😊
"The people I call family or friends
deceived me to my roots.
My home will be somewhere.
My courage has never known defeat."
that has been my experience as well.... we share that experience.......we will walk through this and your poem gives me courage... i am so grateful you shared it with me. Thank you.
I'm glad it resonates somewhere😊 Lots of thanks for such beautiful words😊I really appreciate it😊😊
What a beautiful poem. Your chosen words are so sacred and real. I felt every single one of them.
That's such a thoughtful read 😊So kind of you😊Lots of thanks for your read here, I truly appreciate😊😊
Your words have touched me in places I don't even have words to describe. I feel this deeply. This is so beautiful, raw, and real.
That's so sweet of you😊😊Lots of thanks for your read and such thoughtful words😊😊Truly appreciate😊😊😊
Those termites make me think of something that you cannot get rid of, which is everywhere, which permeates every spot left open — like a flood swallows a garden, it works on your soul… no way out … except from what? I need to reread it, or else I’ll wonder: where’s the hope?
Ah, there is a longing for a distant place the name of which faded away by the dust of many ordinary days, covered in emptiness. But, out there, it (or the one you were dreaming of) still waits for you… what a lovely idea!
Hmmm you're absolutely there... termites never erase all at once it just let you feel it.. I'm glad you've liked it😊Lots of thanks for your thoughtful read😊It means a lot 😊😊😊
What stayed with me most was the line, “I miss myself, my spotless heart.” It gives the poem its deepest ache: the search is not only for a destination, but for the part of the self that seems to have been lost beneath memory, responsibility, and betrayal.
The termites become a powerful image of what works quietly within us, wearing away certainty while we continue moving. And yet the poem does not surrender to decay. It keeps reaching toward the possibility that what we seek may already be living within us.
Thank you so much for reading with such depth and feeling every word😊😊 Indeed, it's that quiet, invisible wear-and-tear a lot of us carry, and the hope that we can somehow find our way back to who we used to be... and I'm a quite stubborn type of person... and giving up is still unchecked in my todo list. But, I'm so glad you're here with such beautiful words😊😊I really appreciate it😊😊😊
spoken direct.
That's how it feels in the present time.
Last poem I read, that came out straight like this, was "The Lament of Ur"
Good company
That's so kind of you. Lots of thanks for your read here. I really appreciate😊😊
🚀
Lots of thanks 😊😊
“Thinking of the One” and the termites piercing the heart—such deep, haunting imagery. I could almost hear the quiet destruction happening beneath the surface and see it eating away at what once felt solid. This whole piece feels like walking through an abandoned house of the self, still searching for the sacred thing that never actually left. Beatification ❤️
Thankyou so so much for such a beautiful description😊😊the abandoned house of the self...that's the essence😊😊 You heard the exact quiet cracking and hollowness I was trying to capture. It means so much to know you felt the haunting nature of that search.😊😊 Lots of thanks for walking through those rooms with me.😊😊 I really appreciate your presence and such thoughtful words.😊😊😊
Cheap glasses over a broken world is such a stubborn kind of hope. The termites keep chewing where nobody can see, but your swords are still waiting, and the person beneath all that dust has not vanished. I hope the home you find knows you before you have to explain yourself at the door.
So kind of you😊How thoughtfully you've tracked the warrior here... hopes that just wanna fade needs a stubborn human😊😊Lots of thanks for your beautiful read here😊😊I truly appreciate😊😊😊
Such a beautifully, poetic declaration.
That's so kind of you😊😊Lots of thanks 😊😊It means a lot😊😊
"I’ll rewrite my own myth."
Hello pm,
the above line... I've been writing poems about this so much lately. Haven't posted them yet though...
The poem, I'll admit, was just a little distressing as I read it. (I thought you were writing about a difficult time you are experiencing right now.) However, I was only disturbed until I read your author's note at the end and better understood the meaning of the poem.
And no matter whether the poem had pertained to my friend or whether it was something you wrote for another reason, It's a very, very good poem. No surprise here.
Thank you for such a pleasurable read.
Oh that's so sweet of you😊 It's distressing time forever...but I'll fight it up 😊Thankyou so so much for your care and love😊It means a lot😊😊😊I'm so glad you're here😊Looking forward for your uploads... Hope you're doing well😊😊That line is hopeful for me...
Amazing poem
That's so nice of you😊Lots of thanks for your read here😊😊I really appreciate😊😊
This is an incredible lonely journey defined by the weight of woe hanging—short of despair. There is angst, a struggle to be: seen, heard, recognized, loved. I followed the journey of pain and history that calls to be relived yet it cannot. We write myths and choose new identity apart from constraint. I loved this:
The shade of my shoes brings every halt.
But I keep moving,
dragging afar,
walking with bones,
burdens, and loads.
These shoulders have grown tired.
How do I take the weight…
off my heart?
The images here remind me of the death of spiritual being, the dry bones of Ezekiel-will these bones live? If you say so, God. I think the burdens and loads remind me that is not possible to hold onto to things, even emotional baggage, and truly be free. That image reminded me of Pilgrim's Progress and the journey to the Celestial City, we take nothing to the next life. And there are seasons when striving reduces us, or at least the the exertion in the figuring out before we realize, the baggage isn't ours to carry, nor the drama, nor the dysfunction or the image we are often given as identity by others.
We can only bear what was given before we arrived in birth, imago Dei. The weight in life is often heavy, grief and sorrow are the raw reality, mourning brings us to the next season with the imprint of all that was, is (often the recognition of loss) and what will be. There is a gentleness in the season of rest that calls the destruction to cease being the harm and begin being the lens from which we observe a different reality.
I was reminded of the heavy laden burden we are to lay down and the yoke of ease that we may share with Him. I will reread this piece. Thank you for sharing a fracture of heart, and the revelation of moving one boot at a time forward— that gave a posture of the will of survival most may not imagine.
Awww this is so so beautiful😊😊 Thanks a lot for reading the essence with such depth... from the heavy, bone-weary struggle all the way to the quiet grace of laying the burden down😊 Your thoughts on stripping away imposed identities, the imagery of Ezekiel's dry bones, and realizing that so much of the weight isn't even ours to carry, it's like you've just read my mind and presented it clearer than I could. 😊Thankyou so much for bringing such gentleness to the conversation. 😊It means a lot to share this journey with someone who truly understands the weight of a single step forward. 😊😊I truly appreciate😊😊
What a tender response. And, thank you for sojourning alongside those whose souls have been weighed and measured by unforeseen obstacles of life.
How beautiful ❤️
That's so kind of you😊Lots of thanks for your thoughtful read😊😊I really appreciate😊😊
Beautiful 🤩
Lots of thanks 😊😊I really appreciate😊😊