Category: Poetic Prose
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The Light He Could Not Dim
He was afraid of my light. Not because it burned him,but because it showed me things clearly.Showed me who I was. Showed me what I carried.Showed me that I had been shrinking myselfto fit inside a room, he had made too small for me.So, he tried to dim it.He said,you think too much.He said,you always…
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Becoming
Before I was a tree, I was a secret.I slept beneath the earth in a coat of darkness, small enough to be overlooked and quiet enough to be forgotten. Above me, the world carried on without knowing my name. Rain tapped softly against the soil. Worms tunneled past me like old neighbors. Roots from older…
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The Common Man
The common man survives quietly.He rises before the sun has decided what kind of day it will be. He pulls on yesterday’s tired shoes, carries tomorrow’s worries in his pockets, and goes to work beneath the weight of bills, promises, and mouths that must be fed. No trumpets sound for him. No history book records…
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To Be—Anyway
To live or give up—that is the question.Is it better to keep taking every hit life throws,or to finally say, I’m doneand end the pain for good?Dying sounds like sleep—quiet, peaceful, no more stress,no more heartbreak, no more pretending everything is fine.But what if death is not the end?What if something comes after,and it is…
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Barren of Leaves
He stood like a tree winter had forgotten to finish—all bone, bark, and bitter silence. Once, perhaps, something green had stirred inside him. A tenderness. A small mercy. But he had starved every soft thing at the root until nothing remained but twisted branches reaching toward a sky that no longer answered.People mistook his stillness…
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After We Had Finished
By the time I found the field,winter had already completed its careful revision of the world.The snow had removed the unnecessary things—footprints,distinctions,directions,the small evidence that anyone had ever believed another bodycould become a home.I sat because there was nothing left to negotiate.The ground beneath me was frozen to a depthno season would confess aloud,and I…
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The Smell of Green
Green smells like coming home.Like fresh-cut grassclinging to Daddy’s work clothes,to the bottom of his boots,to the quiet pridehe carried through the back doorbefore he carried himself.The whole house knewhe was homebefore it heard his voice.Green smells like that.Green smells like collard greenssimmering slowwith hammocksa whisper of smoke,filling every roomuntil hunger itselfbegins to soften.Like cabbagemeeting…
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A Flower of Radiant Beauty
She rises where the quiet light is born,not asking permission from the morning sky,but opening anyway—petal by petal,as if the world itselfhad called her name.The wind moves around her gently,as though it rememberssomething sacred it once forgot.Even time slows here,hesitating at the edge of colortoo vivid to pass without notice.She does not try to shine.She…
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Mending
A heart can break from death,from the empty chair at the table,from a voice you still expect to hearwhen morning enters the room.It can break from rejection,from hands that let go too easily,from being almost chosen,almost loved, almost enough.It can break from loss,from dreams packed away in silence,from names you no longer saybecause they bruise…
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Gravitational Pull
We are all broken in oneway or another, though some of uswon’t admit it, and we gravitatetowards the brokenness in others.We gravitate to those people, placesor things in which we see pieces ofourselves.A cracked laugh.A tired smile.A silence that sounds like home.We recognize the achebefore anyone names it,feel the pull before we understandthat sometimes broken…
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