For I am not of this realm,
and this realm has no claim
over who I am.

I have walked beneath its iron skies,
heard the grinding teeth of kingdoms,
felt the hands of sorrow
reaching through the dust for me.

Yet still there burns within my chest
a fire untouched by mortal weather,
a hidden language older than grief,
older than the names of stars.

They may measure flesh and failure,
they may number wounds like coins,
but they cannot weigh the soul
nor bind what heaven has remembered.

For I was not fashioned
from the hunger of this world alone.
There is something in me
that remembers distant waters,
quiet fields beyond the veil,
a homeland not made by human hands.

And though I wander here in weakness,
though my feet grow tired with clay and time,
I will not bow my spirit
to the fear that governs lesser things.

Because the dark has never owned the dawn.
The sea does not possess the moon.
And this realm, with all its noise and ruin,
cannot possess me.

For I am passing through it
like breath through winter branches,
like light across a broken mirror.

And when it calls me by the name
it carved from pain and exile,
I will answer with the truth:

I belong to eternity.

For God is the Breath that resides in all living things, and the light I had forgotten within myself.

Joel

Maybe I'd appreciate

You speaking words

As soft as Autumn leaves falling.

To tell what's really going on inside the spaces you guard where I'm left waiting.

I love you, I do.

Not just the way breath needs air,

But in the way Stars whisper across light years,

Finding their way home to each other.

And yet it's always next week?

Another tide pulled by some distant Moon,

Some reason that always feels smaller than the gravity of us.

I thought love was the photons

Simple proofs of existence;

Your laughter, the imprint of you beside me.

The light that collapses every possibility into now.

Quantum mechanics tells us the truth;

Photons, love, and you;

Unobserved until thought of, unreal until believed.

Einstein was wrong wasn't he?

The universe conspires for soulmates,

Entangling Us in ways unseen

But feels like prayers answered in the dark.

It's real, as real as god,

As real as the pull between us that time and reason cannot sever.

This ache was unlike anything ever felt;

Raw and unrelenting,

As though it had always been there etched into the soul.

Every fiber of being craved her,

The ghost of a connection that had never truly been.

Her skin soft in the imagination,

Her warmth vivid in his dreams,

It haunted him.

He wasn't sure if it was the hope of what could have been, or

An echo of something lost in a life neither of them remembered.

'I miss you' he softly whispered into the silence

His words an offering to the universe.

'I miss you, like I've lost something sacred. Not just now

But in another time;

Another life'

It was a memory so distant it felt like a dream -

A dream of a place beyond time where the air shimmered with Hues not found on Earth.

Where colors danced like living beings,

Each carrying a Melody so pure it made the soul tremble.

He had been there once,

Though now-

The when and where were as elusive as morning mist.

All that was remembered clearly was her.

She had been a queen, draped in flowing robes of deep Royal purple, That rippled in the starlight.

Her presence demanded reverence, but it was her eyes; luminous and eternal that captured him.

They weren't just eyes; they were Windows to everything he had ever known, everything he had ever loved.

He didn't remember who he had been in that place.

A servant, perhaps a guardian, or maybe just a wanderer lost in the splendor of her radiance.

What he did know was the way she smiled at him,

A soft curve of her lips that felt like heaven itself was speaking his name.

They had walked together in that celestial realm;

Their footsteps leaving trails of light on the golden ground.

No words had been exchanged;

None were needed.

Their connection was deeper than sound,

Stronger than touch.

It was the kind of bond forged before the beginning of time,

One that even the gods would not sever.

But then came the part he tried not to remember;

The part where the light faded,

Where her hands slipped from his.

He called out to her as the vibrant world around them dissolved into shadows,

But his voice had been swallowed by the void.

He awoke in a different life,

In a world of muted colors and heavy air,

Carrying only the ghost of that memory.

The memory of heaven;

The memory of her.

He often wondered if she remembered too.

Was she out there walking under the same sky carrying the same hurt?

Did she also wake in the dead of night,

Heart pounding,

Tears wetting her cheeks,

Unsure of why she felt so hollow?

He couldn't chase the feeling that she was close,

That their souls were like magnets tugging against the pull of the physical world.

It was why he searched

Scanning the faces of strangers

Lingering in conversations that felt strangely familiar,

Chasing dreams that always dissolved before he could hold them.

One dream stayed with him longer than the others.

He was standing on the edge of a vast golden plane.

The air shimmered thick with color and sound,

And he saw her standing in the distance

Her figure radiant, and wrapped in the same Royal purple robes.

Her back was turned, but he knew it was her.

He called out, his voice shaking with desperation

And for a moment she turned,

Her eyes locking with his.

But then the light shifted

The color dimmed,

And she faded once more into the horizon.

JFB

I searched for thunder in the heavens,

for fire upon the mountains crest,

for voices rolling through the darkness

to put my wandering heart at rest.

Yet morning came in quiet colors,

the sun rose gently through the trees,

and something holy touched the silence

and traveled softly on the breeze.

A child laughed off in the distance,

a stranger offered out a hand,

and love stood firm against the storm winds—

a language I could understand.

Then slowly I began to notice

the signs that waited on the way,

not commanding me with power,

but inviting me to love each day.

The Shepherd; He walks on before me,

  I cannot always see His face.

He speaks to me through open doorways,

through opportunity and grace.

His signs are not in thunder only,

nor always written in the sky.

They rest beside the roads I travel,

asking if  I'll pass them by.

He sets a table in the wilderness,

and places purpose in my hands.

Blessings fill my cup to overflowing,

I know His goodness still expands.

His rod reminds me when I'm drifting,

His staff will draw me back so near.

One teaches wisdom through correction,

the other quiets every fear.

The seed beneath the earth is breaking,

the stars awaken overhead,

and every path my feet are taking

holds signs where unseen footsteps led.

Not every sign is born of gladness;

some come wrapped in grief and pain.

A shattered dream, a season ending,

and loss that leaves a lasting stain.

Yet even sorrow bears a message,

a hidden marker on the way.

What breaks the heart may also open

a door to greater light one day.

He leads me on the path of goodness,

where my heart grows strong and true.

And when I walk beside that guidance,

the world always seems bright and new.

But I have wandered from His leading,

choosing my own way instead.

And every road without His wisdom

has left my spirit underfed.

For hell is more than distant fire;

it lives within the choices made

when I refuse the Shepherd's calling

and wander from the path He laid.

Still, His mercy waits before me.

Still, His voice calls through the years.

Still, He prepares a place of welcome

beyond all of my doubts and fears.

For what is life but roads and crossings,

and what are we but travelers: all,

reading signs beside the journey,

And answering a distant call,

Perhaps the wonder is not finding

a burning sky above our head,

but learning how to see the sacred

in common paths our feet have tread.

JFB

In fields unseen, the quanta spin,

Where chance and choice both dwell within.

A silent song, a whispered plan,

The rules of light, the breath of man.

---

Copenhagen speaks of choice,

A world that listens to our voice.

It says: "Observe, and truth shall be,"

Till then, it sleeps — probability.

A wave collapses, form takes flight,

The dream becomes the waking sight.

---

Then Many-Worlds begins to hum,

Where every path and fate will come.

Each choice we make, each breath, each cry,

Unfolds a world where none can die.

No wave collapses — all remain,

A thousand suns, one endless chain.

---

Pilot-Wave, the secret guide,

Hides the truth the rest deride.

Particles dance with unseen hands,

Through ghostly waves in hidden lands.

No chance, no roll, no cosmic bluff —

The pilot knows — the wave’s enough.

---

And still we seek what lies behind,

The woven threads of heart and mind.

For every truth the quanta bring,

Feels like a prayer, a living string.

Perhaps the stars, the light, the plan,

Are thoughts of God — reflected man.

For in the void, one truth we glean:

All that is — began unseen.

A seminary of inward law,
where spirit weighs what cannot show.
What lives beneath the spoken law
is where the hidden orders grow.

He learned that life is not a crown,
nor built from what the eye can prove,
but shaped by what will not come down
when all foundations try to move.

For principalities press in
through thoughts that no one else can see,
yet still it does not break the man—
he stands by what he knows to be.

For every choice becomes a thread
that pulls the unseen into form,
and what is buried, but not dead,
will rise again through calm or storm.

She learned that spirit does not shout,
nor force the mind to bend or kneel,
but works through what cannot be cut
from what the heart is made to feel.

For principalities extend
their weight upon her quiet mind,
yet still she does not turn or bend
from what her truth has now defined.

She holds the place where thought begins,
before the world can name it right,
and lets what is and what has been
be measured only by the light.

He and she were placed within
a law not written by their hand,
yet still they walk where both begin
to learn what neither understand.

And in the middle, softly cast,
a place where both their truths align:
what shapes the soul will always last
When spirit governs heart and mind.

Joel

You, my dear Lord,

Are a shield that surrounds me.

You are the one who lifts up my soul.

You are the glorious light that surrounds me,

Ever the only one who makes me feel whole.

Oh Lord, how long?

Will You forget me forever?

How long will You hide Your sweet face from me?

How long must I suffer this drought, lonely heart

That seems lost in a desert of dreams?

You, my dear Lord, are the cosmic creation,

Falling from Jupiter’s streams,

Trapped in a world of karmic relation,

Built from this fantastic dream.

By Joel Barb

A seminary of inward law,
where spirit weighs what cannot show.
What lives beneath the spoken law
is where the hidden orders grow.

He learned that life is not a crown,
nor built from what the eye can prove,
but shaped by what will not come down
when all foundations try to move.

For principalities press in
through thoughts that no one else can see,
yet still it does not break the man—
he stands by what he knows to be.

For every choice becomes a thread
that pulls the unseen into form,
and what is buried, but not dead,
will rise again through calm or storm.

She learned that spirit does not shout,
nor force the mind to bend or kneel,
but works through what cannot be cut
from what the heart is made to feel.

For principalities extend
their weight upon her quiet mind,
yet still she does not turn or bend
from what her truth has now defined.

She holds the place where thought begins,
before the world can name it right,
and lets what is and what has been
be measured only by the light.

He and she were placed within
a law not written by their hand,
yet still they walk where both begin
to learn what neither understand.

And in the middle, softly cast,
a place where both their truths align:
what shapes the soul will always last
When spirit governs heart and mind.

By Joel

While walking through the vineyards of creation
Dancing with The winds of Father Time
Looking through the mirror glass I saw you
Pulling on the heartstrings in my mind

From terraces and vestibules you'd call me
Lovely;
I saw you on that pedestal of popular demand
For anything I've ever held of value
I kneel before you graciously to place within your hands

You truly are the queen of Sweet sensation
The shining Revelation found in love
The most elaborate of all creation
The only soul I'm ever dreaming of.

Joel Barb

While walking through the vineyards of creation
Dancing with The winds of Father Time
Looking through the mirror glass I saw you
Pulling on the heartstrings in my mind

From terraces and vestibules you'd call me
Lovely;
I saw you on that pedestal of popular demand
For anything I've ever held of value
I kneel before you graciously to place within your hands

You truly are the queen of Sweet sensation
The shining Revelation found in love
The most elaborate of all creation
The only soul I'm ever dreaming of.

Joel Barb

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust 

Is still the place where love is found. 

He learned that faith is not a claim, 

Or something spoken to be heard, 

But Carried through the longest strain 

When every promise breaks its word. 

For every doubt that enters in 

Still leaves its mark upon the skin 

And what is lost and what has been 

Both shape the life a heart lives in. 

She learned that love is not a flame 

That burns without the cost of night, 

But something held through loss and shame 

But still returns to what feels right. 

She did not turn when silence came, 

Nor shut the door when distance grew, 

But held him close without a claim

To force what time would not undo. 

For he and she were placed within 

A bond not always understood, 

Yet still returned again, again -

As if love called them back for good. 

And in the middle, softly cast -

A line where both their truths align: 

What breaks within does not stay past, 

It learns to stand through space and time. 

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust, 

Is still the place where love is found.

 

In fields unseen, the quanta spin,

Where chance and choice both dwell within.

A silent song, a whispered plan,

The rules of light, the breath of man.

---

Copenhagen speaks of choice,

A world that listens to our voice.

It says: "Observe, and truth shall be,"

Till then, it sleeps — probability.

A wave collapses, form takes flight,

The dream becomes the waking sight.

---

Then Many-Worlds begins to hum,

Where every path and fate will come.

Each choice we make, each breath, each cry,

Unfolds a world where none can die.

No wave collapses — all remain,

A thousand suns, one endless chain.

---

Pilot-Wave, the secret guide,

Hides the truth the rest deride.

Particles dance with unseen hands,

Through ghostly waves in hidden lands.

No chance, no roll, no cosmic bluff —

The pilot knows — the wave’s enough.

---

And still we seek what lies behind,

The woven threads of heart and mind.

For every truth the quanta bring,

Feels like a prayer, a living string.

Perhaps the stars, the light, the plan,

Are thoughts of God — reflected man.

For in the void, one truth we glean:

All that is — began unseen.

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust 

Is still the place where love is found. 

He learned that faith is not a claim, 

Or something spoken to be heard, 

But Carried through the longest strain 

When every promise breaks its word. 

For every doubt that enters in 

Still leaves its mark upon the skin 

And what is lost and what has been 

Both shape the life a heart lives in. 

She learned that love is not a flame 

That burns without the cost of night, 

But something held through loss and shame 

But still returns to what feels right. 

She did not turn when silence came, 

Nor shut the door when distance grew, 

But held him close without a claim

To force what time would not undo. 

For he and she were placed within 

A bond not always understood, 

Yet still returned again, again -

As if love called them back for good. 

And in the middle, softly cast -

A line where both their truths align: 

What breaks within does not stay past, 

It learns to stand through space and time. 

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust, 

Is still the place where love is found.

 

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust 

Is still the place where love is found. 

He learned that faith is not a claim, 

Or something spoken to be heard, 

But Carried through the longest strain 

When every promise breaks its word. 

For every doubt that enters in 

Still leaves its mark upon the skin 

And what is lost and what has been 

Both shape the life a heart lives in. 

She learned that love is not a flame 

That burns without the cost of night, 

But something held through loss and shame 

But still returns to what feels right. 

She did not turn when silence came, 

Nor shut the door when distance grew, 

But held him close without a claim

To force what time would not undo. 

For he and she were placed within 

A bond not always understood, 

Yet still returned again, again -

As if love called them back for good. 

And in the middle, softly cast -

A line where both their truths align: 

What breaks within does not stay past, 

It learns to stand through space and time. 

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust, 

Is still the place where love is found.

 

Time left notes on creation 

When the sun was fullest in the sky 

Or the moon came out at night. 

There were little pieces of memory left for us to recollect. 

After God created man 

Time was shared with others in tales of long ago 

Yesterday; 

Love was grandly in season 

Family lineage became Paramount 

Giving order to the years of a man's life 

Time became meaningful. 

The moment I met you,

Eternity began for us. 

And no I will never forget 

The beauty of your soul with mine -

Laughing through a pool game, 

Challenging your dark throws; 

And loving your technical wizardry while awaiting imperial destruction in chess. 

I love you baby 

My heart yearns to be with you; 

You're warmth, 

Your tenderness. 

Encouragement is a vitamin to the soul; 

Your love is a vitamin to mine

Thank you for loving me. 

I love you like an elephant loves water, 

Like an anteater loves ants, 

And like a penguin loves its mate for life. 

Your eyes are a fisherman's dream; 

Your skin like sweet candy, 

Your smell to me is like flowers on a cool evening 

Stretching to reach the sun. 

You are my living dream; 

My always sought after soulmate. 

I knew you from dreams as a child 

Where we played and laughed 

And did all the things children do. 

I Love you like a Man loves a woman 

Like a baby loves his mother's breast. 

I love you like eagles live to fly. 

And fish love to swim. 

I love you more than the waters in the seas combined 

And like a magnet loves his counterport. 

You are my dreams of evolution 

In my Psalm of eternal salvation. 

I give you all because you are all to me 

I know God now baby, 

He Is in your eyes smiling back to me.

I do not know where the living will end,

Or the hunger begins within me? 

I only know what is left of a name 

That is carried far out to sea.

I have listened for hearts like yours before 

Drifting nameless with sin, through the rain. 

I know how the silence can hollow a soul 

Until grief settles deep in the veins. 

Do not fear the sound of my voice, 

I learned it from seagulls and Tide, 

From Bells that once wept through the cliffs in the fog.

And the dead who still wander inside. 

 Once, hands just like yours reached for mine in the dawn, 

Where I slept untouched by the storms. 

Once, somebody spoke my forgotten true name 

As though I were something still warm. 

Come closer, for sorrow has wearied your feet

Come rest where the blackwater sighs.

Let me gather the ache from your bones with my song 

While the Stars disappear from the sky. 

Lay your head where the cold wind falls silent at last. 

Let the darkness unfasten your fears. 

I've carried for heavier grief than your own.

And have swallowed much pain through the years. 

There once was a bright Hall of lanterns and gold, 

Where laughter moved soft through the air. 

At times I still dream of its fire in the dark, 

Yet  awaken when prayer finds despair.. 

Yes, hunger grows wild where tenderness fades, 

When Love is abandoned too long. 

Now every soft Mercy that lives in my chest 

Returns sharpened inside of my song. 

Still, I remember the warmth of a hand.

And I hate when the cold ocean cries. 

And some part of me still reaches for love 

Beneath all these merciless skies. 

So come closer, sweet wanderer, come closer tonight. 

Let the tide pull your sorrow from shore. 

For I was not born with these teeth in my mouth -

I was lonely much longer before. 

Yes..

I was lonely much longer before...

And still we are carried where currents remember,

With a night that will not let us be.

In the folding of waves there are names without souls

that drift back in pieces to sea.

And the wind wears the sound of our half-screaming cries

that never learned quite how to sleep.

So it circles the shore like a promise half-broken

and hums through the bones of the deep.

No ending is written where water is calling,

And no final word ever stays.

Just the pull of the dark where the bright things are falling

While learning the shape of the waves.

And if you should follow this softness between us,

Don't  mistake it for something secure—

Just know that the song does not end where you think?

it only cries out to bring more....

I do not know where the living will end 

or the hunger begins inside me 

I only know what is left of a name 

That is carry far out to the Sea;

We have listened for hearts like yours before. 

Drifting nameless with sin through the rain. 

We know how the silence can hollow a  soul 

Until Grief settles deep in the veins.

By JFB

A seminary of inward law, 

 Where Spirit weighs what cannot show. 

What lives beneath the spoken law 

Is where the hidden order grows. 

He learned that life is not a crown, 

Not built from what the eye can prove, 

But shaped by what will not come down 

When all foundations try to move. 

For principalities press in 

Through thoughts that no one else can see, 

Yet still it does not break the man -

He stands by what he knows to be. 

For every choice becomes a thread 

That pulls the unseen into form,

And what is buried, but not dead, 

Will rise again through calm or storm. 

She learned that Spirit does not shout, 

Nor Force the mind to bend or kneel, 

But works through what cannot be cut 

From what the heart is made to feel. 

For principalities extend 

Their weight upon her quiet mind, 

Yet still, she does not turn or bend 

From what her truth has now defined. 

She holds the place where thought begins, 

Before the world can name it right, 

And lets what is and what has been 

Be measured only by the light. 

He and she were placed within 

A law not written by their hands,

Yet still they walk where both begin 

To learn what neither understands. 

And in the middle, softly cast, 

A place where both their truths align: 

What shapes the soul will always last 

When Spirit governs heart and mind. 

I searched for thunder in the heavens,

for fire upon the mountains crest,

for voices rolling through the darkness

to put my wandering heart at rest.

Yet morning came in quiet colors,

the sun rose gently through the trees,

and something holy touched the silence

and traveled softly on the breeze.

A child laughed off in the distance,

a stranger offered out a hand,

and love stood firm against the storm winds—

a language I could understand.

Then slowly I began to notice

the signs that waited on the way,

not commanding me with power,

but inviting me to love each day.

The Shepherd; He walks on before me,

  I cannot always see His face.

He speaks to me through open doorways,

through opportunity and grace.

His signs are not in thunder only,

nor always written in the sky.

They rest beside the roads I travel,

asking if  I'll pass them by.

He sets a table in the wilderness,

and places purpose in my hands.

Blessings fill my cup to overflowing,

I know His goodness still expands.

His rod reminds me when I'm drifting,

His staff will draw me back so near.

One teaches wisdom through correction,

the other quiets every fear.

The seed beneath the earth is breaking,

the stars awaken overhead,

and every path my feet are taking

holds signs where unseen footsteps led.

Not every sign is born of gladness;

some come wrapped in grief and pain.

A shattered dream, a season ending,

and loss that leaves a lasting stain.

Yet even sorrow bears a message,

a hidden marker on the way.

What breaks the heart may also open

a door to greater light one day.

He leads me on the path of goodness,

where my heart grows strong and true.

And when I walk beside that guidance,

the world always seems bright and new.

But I have wandered from His leading,

choosing my own way instead.

And every road without His wisdom

has left my spirit underfed.

For hell is more than distant fire;

it lives within the choices made

when I refuse the Shepherd's calling

and wander from the path He laid.

Still, His mercy waits before me.

Still, His voice calls through the years.

Still, He prepares a place of welcome

beyond all of my doubts and fears.

For what is life but roads and crossings,

and what are we but travelers: all,

reading signs beside the journey,

And answering a distant call?

Perhaps the wonder is not finding

a burning sky above our head,

but learning how to see the sacred

in common paths our feet have tread.

JFB

I searched for thunder in the heavens,

for fire upon the mountains crest,

for voices rolling through the darkness

to put my wandering heart at rest.

Yet morning came in quiet colors,

the sun rose gently through the trees,

and something holy touched the silence

and traveled softly on the breeze.

A child laughed off in the distance,

a stranger offered out a hand,

and love stood firm against the storm winds—

a language I could understand.

Then slowly I began to notice

the signs that waited on the way,

not commanding me with power,

but inviting me to love each day.

The Shepherd; He walks on before me,

  I cannot always see His face.

He speaks to me through open doorways,

through opportunity and grace.

His signs are not in thunder only,

nor always written in the sky.

They rest beside the roads I travel,

asking if  I'll pass them by.

He sets a table in the wilderness,

and places purpose in my hands.

Blessings fill my cup to overflowing,

I know His goodness still expands.

His rod reminds me when I'm drifting,

His staff will draw me back so near.

One teaches wisdom through correction,

the other quiets every fear.

The seed beneath the earth is breaking,

the stars awaken overhead,

and every path my feet are taking

holds signs where unseen footsteps led.

Not every sign is born of gladness;

some come wrapped in grief and pain.

A shattered dream, a season ending,

and loss that leaves a lasting stain.

Yet even sorrow bears a message,

a hidden marker on the way.

What breaks the heart may also open

a door to greater light one day.

He leads me on the path of goodness,

where my heart grows strong and true.

And when I walk beside that guidance,

the world always seems bright and new.

But I have wandered from His leading,

choosing my own way instead.

And every road without His wisdom

has left my spirit underfed.

For hell is more than distant fire;

it lives within the choices made

when I refuse the Shepherd's calling

and wander from the path He laid.

Still, His mercy waits before me.

Still, His voice calls through the years.

Still, He prepares a place of welcome

beyond all of my doubts and fears.

For what is life but roads and crossings,

and what are we but travelers: all,

reading signs beside the journey,

And answering a distant call?

Perhaps the wonder is not finding

a burning sky above our head,

but learning how to see the sacred

in common paths our feet have tread.

JFB

Revised:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
placed up there carefully, told not to fall,
set in a balance he could not defend,
with no understanding of where it would end.

They said it was safe, they said it was right,
that height was a measure of worth in their sight,
that being above was a thing to admire,
though none ever spoke of the cost climbing higher.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
not from misstep, nor by chance at all,
for what is a fall but the end of a place
that never was meant to be held anyway?

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
rushed to assemble the pieces again,
not out of care, nor grief, nor remorse—
but to prove they still held control over force.

But some things once broken refuse to align,
not out of defiance, but simple design,
for cracks are not flaws that can always be sealed,
and damage once done does not ask to be healed.

Humpty Dumpty lay where he fell,
while voices insisted that all would be well,
and somewhere beneath all the effort and claims…

no one admitted

They made it that way.

J F Barb

I’d like to write something that everyone knows,
something so simple it quietly grows
inside of the heart,
inside of the mind,
the places we travel
but never can find

I’d like to write something that reaches each soul,
something that calls out,
come home and be whole
not riches or power
not crowns that we wear
but quiet surrender
to the weight that we bear

Truth is just something
we find on our own
when no one is listening
to what we have known
not shouted in thunder
not carved into stone
but soft as the silence
that follows us home

And love is not perfect
it’s not always kind
it’s the risk of still giving
what we fear we might find
it’s the hand that keeps reaching
when reason says “don’t”
and the hope that survives us
when everything won’t

So I’d like to write something
that doesn’t pretend
that we’re always beginning
or healed in the end
just human and breaking
and learning to see
that even in nothing
there’s still poetry

JFB