Oh, the lies we tell to shield, to comfort.

Poems

Hello, before the poems, I’d just like to ask if you could support me by buying me a coffee ? That would be so cool, as I’ve saving up for a laptop so I don’t have to work just on my phone anymore!

Lies.

In the stillness of dawn, where light first breathes,

And the shadows retreat like dreams dissipating,

There is a softness in the air, a promise—

As if the world holds its breath, tenderly.

I wander through the fields where grass whispers,

Each blade a confidant to the morning dew.

Nature, unassuming and honest,

Unveils its secrets without a trace of guile.

Yet, within the folds of human hearts,

Lies a different kind of dawn, a twilight,

Where truth and falsehood dance,

Intertwined like the roots of ancient oaks.

I think of the times I’ve heard a lie,

How it rolls off the tongue like honey,

Sweet but with a bitterness that lingers,

A weight that pulls at the corners of the soul.

Oh, the lies we tell to shield, to comfort,

Like a mother bird feigning injury,

Leading predators astray from her nest.

But unlike the bird, our deceit often snares us.

In the silence of the forest, I ponder,

The truth that runs through the veins of the earth,

Uncomplicated, pure, like the song of a brook,

Carving its way through stones with a gentle persistence.

If we could only be as true as the sparrow’s song,

Unmasked, unafraid of the morning light,

Perhaps then we could lie down in peace,

Among the ferns, and rest without the shadow of doubt.

For in the end, it is the honesty of wild things

That teaches us how to be free,

How to shed the tangled webs we weave,

And return to the simplicity of just being.

Sea mist.

The sea mist drifts in, a ghostly veil,

Softening the world in a tender embrace.

It curls around the rocks, whispers to the sand,

A silent lullaby to the waking shore.

I walk along the edge where water meets land,

Feet sinking into the cool, damp earth.

The mist swirls around me, a gentle shroud,

Blurring the line between ocean and sky.

Gulls call out, their cries muffled,

As if speaking secrets only the mist can hear.

The horizon fades, a watercolor dream,

Where the sun struggles to break through, golden and shy.

In this ethereal realm, I feel a peace,

A sense of belonging to something vast and ancient.

The sea mist holds stories, old as the tides,

Of sailors lost and lovers found, of journeys yet to begin.

I think of the mist as a keeper of dreams,

A bridge between worlds, where time moves slow.

It hides the harsh and reveals the soft,

A balm to the restless, a haven for the weary.

With each breath, I inhale the essence of the sea,

Salt and water, life and mystery.

The mist clings to my skin, a gentle reminder,

That even the unseen holds beauty, holds truth.

In this moment, I am part of the mist,

Bound to the earth and sky, the sea and shore.

I move with the rhythm of waves and wind,

Dissolving into the quiet grace of morning.

Artists only.

To be an artist is to live in the space

Between the seen and unseen, the known and unknown,

Where imagination blooms like wildflowers

In the meadows of the mind, unbidden and free.

It’s to feel the pulse of the earth in your fingertips,

To see the world through a lens of wonder,

Where every shadow tells a story,

And every light is a promise of something more.

An artist walks a path less traveled,

Finding beauty in the broken, the ordinary,

Seeing the sublime in a raindrop,

The infinite in a grain of sand.

It’s to listen to the whispers of the wind,

To translate the silent song of the stars,

To paint with the colors of the soul,

And sculpt with the clay of dreams.

Each creation is a piece of the heart,

A breath given form, a whisper given voice.

To be an artist is to dare to expose

The depths of being, the fragility of truth.

It’s to stand at the edge of the world,

To look beyond the horizon with eyes wide open,

To capture the fleeting moments of grace,

And hold them tenderly, like a bird in hand.

In the solitude of the studio, in the wilds of inspiration,

An artist communes with the essence of life,

Drawing from the well of existence,

Bringing forth what is hidden within.

To be an artist is to be a seeker, a dreamer,

To weave the threads of reality and fantasy,

To believe in the magic of creation,

And to share it, a gift to the world.