Of Potential.

Poems for my one hundredth post.

The Abandoned Studio.

In the mornings, light filters through the cracked glass,

cold and indifferent.

I sit at my easel,

the canvas a white expanse

of potential

now tarnished with erasure.

Once, I believed in the shapes

that my hand conjured,

a mirror of the world's hidden grace.

Now, the brush lies heavy,

a burden I can no longer bear.

The paint, congealed in jars,

whispers of forgotten colors,

dreams that once pulsed

with the promise of form.

But the lines falter, and the image

blurs into nothingness.

This room, a mausoleum of aspirations,

bears witness to the silent defeat.

The sketches, once vibrant, yellow with time,

curl inward, collapsing

like the dreams that fed them.

In the silence, I hear

the echoes of my own ambitions,

fragile and hollow.

The muse, elusive,

now a distant memory.

I am a ghost in this place,

haunted by what might have been,

the artist who failed to breathe life

into her visions.

And so I sit,

in this stillness, this quiet ruin,

the failed artist,

a testament to the delicate line

between creation and oblivion.

---

The Final Surrender.

The garden lies fallow, overrun with weeds,

once-tended paths now tangled

in the relentless creep of time.

My hands, idle,

forget the feel of soil, the coaxing

of life from the earth.

I set aside my tools,

no longer drawn to the promise

of growth or bloom.

The days blend into a haze

of quiet resignation,

each dawn a reminder of what I have relinquished.

There is a peace in this surrender,

a release from the endless striving.

The dreams I once nurtured

slip away like petals in the wind,

leaving only the bare stems,

the memory of what could have been.

I watch the seasons pass,

the garden becoming a wild testament

to nature's indifference.

The vines embrace the walls,

flowers give way to brambles,

an echo of my own retreat.

This is how it ends, not with a cry

but with a gentle letting go.

The ambitions that burned so fiercely

now a smoldering ash,

the quiet acceptance of a simpler truth.

In giving up, I find a strange solace,

a calm amidst the wreckage.

The world continues, indifferent,

and I am free from the burden

of what I could not achieve.

Here, in the quiet aftermath,

I discover myself anew,

a soul untethered from its striving,

at rest in the unremarkable grace

of surrender.

---

The Parting.

I pack my suitcase in the dim morning light,

each item a relic of shared days,

folding memories into neat, silent corners.

The house breathes quietly,

unaware of the impending absence.

We stood once, side by side,

in the warmth of summer fields,

promises whispered like vows

against the backdrop of an endless sky.

Now, those words drift, weightless,

dispersing like mist in the early dawn.

Your touch, familiar,

now feels like an echo,

a haunting of what was tender and whole.

The rooms we filled with laughter

seem vast and empty,

shadows stretching into solitude.

I leave a note, brief and unadorned,

on the kitchen table where we shared

so many mornings, coffee and silence,

the unspoken understanding of years.

It says only what is necessary,

the rest left to the unspoken ache.

There is a finality in the closing door,

the soft click a punctuation

to our story.

Outside, the world continues,

unperturbed by the severing of our ties.

In the rearview mirror, the house recedes,

a distant shape on the horizon,

your face a lingering ghost in the reflection.

I drive toward the unknown,

the road unraveling like a thread,

each mile a step away from what we were.

The heart, though heavy, begins to lighten,

unburdened by the weight of staying.

In leaving, I reclaim the parts of myself

that were lost in the quiet compromise

of our love, the gradual erosion

of what once was vibrant and whole.

This is the end, the necessary parting,

a farewell whispered to the wind.

I leave behind the familiar

to seek the solace of the unknown,

a journey into the vast expanse

of becoming once more.

Hi, thank you so much for reading. Sorry it may not be up to my usual standards, having to work on my phone to write as my laptop is dead!!Fancy buying me a coffee?That would be so awesome if you could and would help my work towards a new laptop.