Emilique

there’s so much to do, yet so little time, yearning for dreams that will never be mine. moments of stillness slip right through my hands, defeated before i can make a stand.

is there ever a moment we’re truly at rest? a second of peace, a heart unpressed? even in those quiet, dusky hours, when the last light fades, we feel its power.

the weight of "what ifs" and "what could have been," a cycle of thought that won't let us win. is it the curse of our existence we bear, or the tragedy of life, this constant despair?

they say time heals, but does it lie? do wounds fade, or just learn to hide? does silence soothe, or steal our cries? do we forget, or just survive?

forgiveness blooms, or so they say, yet some thorns never fade away. not every cut turns soft with grace, some scars remain, a ghostly trace.

as i sit down to write, to give these thoughts a place, for those who met a fate so fierce, it set their hearts ablaze.

fear not, dear child, for this is just another day; what you've been through was far from mild, but you are not alone today.

is that sorrow in your eyes, those tears that guard your past? let them fall, for to forget would be the only crime.

the wise say even the deepest wounds grow gentler with time; not erased, nor left behind, but softened by its climb.

hold your head high, though it aches and strains; the strongest hearts are those that bear the greatest pains.

and when the night feels long and cold, and hope is hard to find, remember, dear soul, as life moves on, so shall we, in time.

the ghost of my past in the corner stands near, haunting my nights, feeding on fear. i keep on searching, in desperate quest, for some kind of peace, for eternal rest.

that innocent smile that once shone bright, now turns to shadows in the dead of night. those eyes that once held dreams and grace, now reflect sorrow i cannot erase.

this anger consumes me it boils my blood, strains my veins I feel it rising in my chest burning—quiet, relentless

this anger consumes me it fills my eyes with rage how long must I pretend with a smile that isn’t mine

this anger consumes me it cannot be undone I’ve worn this mask for so long I no longer know who I was

maybe I am the bird without wings or the fish that couldn’t swim

maybe I am the sky without stars or the tree that never bore fruit

maybe I stayed the garden that didn’t bloom for so long that all the butterflies left

maybe I am the pen without ink or the eraser that was lost

maybe I am the coffee gone bitter or the toast burned too long

maybe I am a castle built on sand waiting to be taken by the sea

maybe I am the ballerina without shoes or the athlete who lost a leg

maybe I am a book without an ending or a poem never written

it was supposed to be unknown shouldn’t have had a reason yet it made itself known slowly, maybe deliberately weaving into a tale never told

it started ever so lightly reasons unknown a little spark and nothing else then it grew more and more

glances turning to gazes glimpses lingering on too long it came with all the thrills it brought stars and sparkles all around but then the moment passes and time goes on

to realize these are fleeting sails never to be mine

then came the winter gazes still lingered never to be returned

could have left him perplexed better than broken ’cause it’s true what they told— skies and the seas were never meant to be

glances still linger longing to be seen as if fading in the crowds a pretend too perfect

the mighty rose stood tall in the garden head held high, it never bent to the wind winter came, trying to freeze it whole autumn whispered, softening its fall summer scorched it, fierce and unrelenting and spring returned with a tender embrace

still, the rose stood alone greeting every season just the same its thorns kept gentle hands away its fences held the wandering at bay

no one noticed the weeds quietly creeping beneath the soil gnawing slowly at its roots unseen, unheard, unfelt