For people who want to read it themselves: A collection of my poetry Soft as a Dove The quiet, silver, restless night begins to breathe around my face, its shadows curling softly, drifting aimlessly far above. They wander through the darkness with slow, unhurried grace, and every thought that follows feels as soft as a dove. _________________________________________________ Light as a Feather At dusk, the garden folds in velvet air While moths like drifting petals rise and gleam, They circle blossoms with a tender care, Soft guardians of a half-remembered dream. A single petal slips from rose to stone, It spins and settles in the hushed twilight, As though the earth has claimed it for its own, Yet keeps its color trembling in the light. A hush of wings glides down the starlit lane, Each motion wound in silver, fine as weather, they brush the dark and loosen it from pain, Their bodies light as a feather altogether. So night, in quiet patterns softly sewn, Holds every fragile breath that dares to stay; What seems to vanish is not truly gone— It lingers in the dark, then lights the day. _______________________________________ Birds Feathers shimmer as they glide gracefully through the air, Their songs rise softly, drifting high above the sky, Wings beat and carry them with purpose, light and fair, They dance on winds that wander endlessly nearby. They perch and watch the world with eyes so bright and keen, Then leap and soar boldly where clouds and sunlight streak, As proud as a peacock, radiant and serene, Their freedom sings in every silent, sweeping arc they seek. ________________________________________________ Reading Within the hush where ink and silence meet, A thousand worlds lie folded, waiting still; Each page a path where thought and dream compete, And minds are shaped according to their will. The gentle turn of paper, soft and slow, Unveils a realm no eye has truly seen; Where whispered words like hidden rivers flow, And paint the soul in shades of the unseen. Reading, art most delicate, yet strong, That builds great empires out of fragile air; It sings in prose, in rhythm, and in song, And lifts the weary heart from its despair. A reader walks through time without a trace, Through ancient halls and futures yet unknown; They wear a thousand names, a thousand faces, Yet in each tale, they find themselves alone. The candle flickers low beside the bed, Its golden glow is a quiet, watchful guide; While words like constellations overhead Illuminate the thoughts we try to hide. And in that glow, the world begins to fade, The ticking clock grows distant, faint, and weak; For in the space that printed lines have made, The soul discovers all it dares to seek. So let the noise of day dissolve to night, And take this key no tyrant can command; For books bestow a most unyielding might. ________________________________________________ Now or Never The moment stands so sharp beneath the sky, A restless feeling pulling deep inside, " It's now or never" echoes, drifting by, A quiet push I cannot seem to hide. I stand alone where choices start to grow, The air feels charged, electric with chance. Each step ahead's a path I do not know, Yet something dares my hesitation's stance. My heartbeat drums a steady, urgent beat, Like time itself is waiting for my move. The past and future slowly meet somewhere, While doubt and courage argue over what to prove. So here I pause, then finally decide, To step ahead and leave my fear behind. ______________________________________________ Bouquet The red roses rested softly in the light, Their petals glowing, calm, and crimson. They stood arranged together, pure and bright, Each blossom held gently in its careful prism. A gentle fragrance drifted through the room, Carrying meaning words could never say. They wait quietly, preserved in bloom, Bound close together as a bouquet. ___________________________________________________
The stars The stars ignite the silence of the night, Like scattered thoughts the darkness cannot contain. They shimmer softly, distant yet so bright, Old dreams returning, written in their flame. They map the sky with stories etched in glow, Each point is a secret time refused to erase. Their silver paths remember what we know, Though centuries have blurred the speaker's face. Some stars stand firm while others drift apart, A quiet dance no mortal hand can guide. They beat like constellations with a heart, Still burning truths the daylight tries to hide. Their light arrives from ages long before, Crossing the void where hours lose their name. What reaches us has traveled endlessly far, Yet lands as gentle warmth instead of flame. Beneath their watch, the world feels small and still, Its sharpest fears grow tired and start to bend. The stars remind us that time obeys no will, Yet hope can shine and never truly end. When dawn draws near, they fade from open sight, Not gone, just folded into skies of blue. They wait with patience for the fall of night, To rise once more and quietly shine through.
