s.t.

I am a Stone Fruit

I am the unassuming dawn

that precedes the tempest,

the lull before the roaring sea,

the fragile skin of a peach

hiding a stone that could shatter glass.

I am the soft earth

that trembles with the fury

of a distant earthquake,

a paradox of gentleness and power,

a tempest in the guise of tranquility.

S.T. 2021

peach wedges by brock cooper(2014)

to shape its winds and bind its light;

but like the waves that crash and curl,

it mocked my touch, it mocked my sight.

I stood, defiant, on the shore,

my hands clenched tight in bitter prayer,

and called the gods to wage once more

a war 'gainst fate, a war to tear.

but soft the earth beneath me moaned,

and soft the stars in silence gleamed,

for all my struggle, I was shown

that all I sought was but a dream.

and in the stillness of that night,

I found my heart, though bruised and bent,

had no more need to fight the fight.

it bowed, it wept, and learned content.

for here, in sorrow's bitter grace,

in every flaw, in every scar,

I see the truth: to own the place,

and love the self, as we are.

no triumph now to lift the soul,

no perfect form of joy to seek,

but in the cracks, the broken whole,

the peace of being, soft and meek.

the world may turn, or not at all,

the winds may wail, the earth may quake,

but I shall stand, though shadows fall,

and let the moment be—unmake.

for in the quiet of surrender,

the heart finds rest, and seeks no more,

and radical, eternal, tender,

the cracks that let light into the depths,

illuminating the essence of who I am,

a mosaic of flaws that shapes my spirit.

the journey through self-acceptance is a river’s course,

winding through valleys of doubt and peaks of clarity,

with each bend, I grow more attuned to my true self,

acknowledging the imperfections as part of my whole,

a celebration of the unique and imperfect self. I rest in the knowledge that I am whole,

in the acceptance of my flaws, I find peace,

each imperfection a part of the grand design,

a testament to the beauty of the unvarnished soul.

the gleam of your satisfaction

masked by a smile too easy,

thinking the silence of your conscience

was a fortress built to last.

you reveled in the illusion

that time could be an accomplice,

that the scales of justice

were mere ornaments

hung on the wall of eternity.

in your arrogance,

you ignored the threads

of your own weaving.

you moved through your days

with a practiced ease,

but I am the pulse beneath the silence,

the quiet force that shifts the sands,

an unseen current that never forgets.

I am the echo of every action,

reverberating through the walls

you thought could contain it.

you cannot erase the echoes

of your actions with indifference.

I am the stillness that waits

in the spaces where you thought

you’d found refuge,

the voice that whispers

in the depths of your conscience,

reminding you

that nothing is truly forgotten.

you see, I am patient,

a gardener of reckoning,

nurturing the seeds you scattered,

tending to the roots that twist

and coil in the soil of your actions.

I am the patient breath

that curls around corners,

the inevitable drift

that guides you back to what you’ve sown.

the darkness you once hid in

will become a mirror,

reflecting every choice

you thought you’d buried.

I am the long sigh of time,

the steady hand that will reach out,

unfolding the truth

with a precision you cannot outrun.

when the day comes,

and it will come,

the weight of your choices

will find you,

woven into the very fabric

of your own making.

you will face me,

not with the ease of evasion,

but with the raw honesty

of a truth that cannot be outrun.

and in that moment,

when your reflection and reality

collide, you will know

that nothing truly goes unaccounted for.

you will find no sanctuary

in the cloak of distance

or the shield of denial.

every choice you made

is a mark etched in time,

and I am the hand

that will trace it back to you.

when the moment arrives,

and it will,

you will not escape the weight

of your own deeds.

the shadows you danced in

will rise up,

the silence will speak,

and the truth you buried

will surface,

waiting to reclaim what was always

its own.

the truth, unyielding and steady,

will find its way to the surface,

and you will face it,

not as a punishment

or as a reward,

but as the inevitable outcome

of your own design.

with love, karma

by S.T.

Revolution of the Heart

in the silent chambers of the heart,

a revolution stirs, unseen but profound,

an uprising not of banners or blood,

but of echoes and whispers.

here, the old guard of fear and doubt

crumbles beneath the weight of truth,

and the walls, once high and unyielding,

are breached by the soft siege of hope.

it begins with a flutter, a murmur,

a flicker of light in the darkness,

a quiet rebellion against the shadows,

the tyrannies of self-doubt and resignation.

love, the unarmed insurgent,

moves through the corridors,

its gentle force tearing down

the barriers built of solitude and sorrow.

in this new realm, compassion rules,

an unassuming leader, guiding

the steps towards healing,

towards a horizon where grace

is the common language.

the heart, now freed from its chains,

beats a rhythm of renewal,

a drum that echoes in the quiet spaces,

a testament to the power

of the unspoken revolution,

where change blooms in the tender soil

of vulnerability and connection.

by S.T.

diana the huntress by gaston casimir saint-pierre

reaching for the moon by edward eggleston

Green

the wild expanse of summer’s embrace,

a restless sea of grass,

where dandelions crown themselves

in fields of endless possibility.

the quiet pulse of moss

clinging to the ancient bark,

the shimmer of emerald rain,

the fleeting echo of a sun-drenched grove.

the color of hope

in the wake of winter's retreat,

a silent affirmation

of life’s unwavering resilience.

from olive’s wisdom to jade’s mystery,

green tells the story

of growth and renewal,

an eternal symphony.

remember when you wanted what you currently have—

those dreams you cradled in your palms,

like fireflies, fragile and flickering,

that once filled your nights with shimmer.

now, the world has folded these dreams

into the fabric of your days.

The gold that seemed so distant,

lies quietly, softly, woven into your hands.

do you remember the yearning,

the ache that clung to every breath,

the whispers of “not yet,”

and how they sang their soft lament

beneath the rhythm of your heart?

now the silence of attainment wraps around you,

the weight of your own wishes realized,

settling like dust on old shelves,

so familiar, so ordinary,

it’s easy to forget the sky you once reached for.

look around and see the echo of your own wishes,

the contours of a life shaped

by the very hands that once trembled

in pursuit of distant stars.

remember, as you walk these paths now paved,

the hunger that once drove you,

the echo of the distant call

that brought you here,

and the quiet miracle of becoming.