Skip to content
Skip to navigation
Not just frayed but edges pressed
pulled away with time
in pieces laid open.
Broken bloodlines crushed
still reaching for daylight
heart in hand
in love-seasoned life.
Photography courtesy of Guldman “TheGolden Hour” wordpress.com
Empty places are not alone.
They are not so quiet either-
taunting and haunting thoughts
in exploding fragments full of grace
taking nothing really into the soul
and finding there a divine space.
The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.
The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-
and I pray for reconciliation.
Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt
It’s a damning process storing every thought , worry
tucked unfolded mostly
so the space feels empty, sterile to the curious.
No presence or joy
broken soul alone
though an open door of life nurtured love.
No space for love or hate-tucked unfolded mostly,
muted and muffled by an unnatural shhhh…
Photo by Steve Garrington
To the point of exhaustion I fall
out from light and conscience
eye to face on wakening with monsters
–the chase begins again.
What of the rage within that swells?
then like a boom, you crash against the wall with words
you knock another off their holy high and you fall and drown
ego slammed against the shore
shamed to be sand-covered
soaked in humanity
photo courtesy of Kalani Cummins
The space of day is broken, even the breath and thought of touch.
How did I move
into such pain?
inbred the call, inside the frame
the me I think I am, it grows…. the cancer, the shame.
photography courtesy of Ériver Hijano