Poetry Everyday

[b1u3eyes]

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Lord Byron

 

[Edna]

Ashes to Dawn

I have walked through fire,
and the smoke still clings to me.
My hands are blackened,
my lungs are heavy,
but somewhere in the ruin
a small ember glows.

It whispers,
"Not all is lost.
Even ash can cradle a seed."

And so I wait for rain.
And so I wait for dawn.
And when the light breaks,
I will rise
not the same,
but remade.

 

[Edna]

The Seed Beneath the Stone

Beneath the hardest stone,
a seed waits.
Buried deep, forgotten,
it learns the patience of the earth.

Storms pass overhead.
Winters stretch long.
But the seed keeps breathing,
silent, unseen.

Then one day—
when the soil softens
and the sun bends down—
a green thread breaks through.
What once was hidden
becomes a hymn of survival,
a song of life returning.

 

[Edna]

The Lantern

In the pit of night,
I thought I was blind.
No stars.
No flame.
No path.

But then
a faint lantern inside me stirred,
a fragile light,
not blazing, not bold,
but enough to keep me walking.

Every step fed it.
Every breath fanned it.
And though the dark
never fully left,
the lantern grew stronger,
brighter,
until I realized
it was not the night
I feared,
but forgetting
I carried my own dawn.

 

[Edna]

Lovers in the Ruins

The bombs fell,
and the city cracked open like bone.
But in the rubble,
I found your hand.

Your grip was trembling,
your face streaked with ash,
yet your eyes burned steady—
a fire that no war
could extinguish.

The world was ending,
but love refused to bow.
Two hearts,
beating like defiance,
in the ruins of everything else.

 

[Edna]

The Soldier's Prayer

I carried a rifle in one hand
and your letter in the other.
One killed.
One kept me alive.

When the night was full of screams,
I read your words by candlelight.
When my brothers fell,
I whispered your name to steady my aim.

War makes a man a ghost
before he dies.
But love—
love made me human again,
if only for a moment.

If I return,
I will not bring medals or glory.
I will bring myself,
and the truth
that even in blood and smoke,
I never stopped loving you.

---

 

[Edna]

Love Is the Last Victory

War can take the fields,
the cities,
the bodies.
It can take the sky itself
and choke it with fire.

But it cannot take
what the heart holds.

Love is the last territory
that no empire can conquer.
It blooms even in trenches,
sings even in prisons,
waits even when death
has already claimed the room.

One day the cannons will rust,
the soldiers will sleep,
the flags will rot in the ground.

But the memory of how you held me,
how you whispered through the smoke—
"I am still here"—
that will outlast
every war.

 

[Edna]

The Door Without a Key

Death is not a thief.
It does not break in.
It waits—
silent, patient,
with a door that opens
only inward.

One day,
the body grows tired of knocking
on the walls of time,
and the soul steps through,
barefoot,
unclothed of flesh.

What lies beyond?
No one returns to say.
Only the echo remains,
and the hollow of absence,
teaching the living
what it means to ache.

 

[Edna]

The Silence After the Heartbeat

When the last breath leaves,
the world does not scream.
It exhales,
as if it too has lost
a piece of itself.

The bed stays warm for moments.
The room keeps your shape in air.
Then slowly,
reality erases you—
not cruelly,
but inevitably,
like waves reclaiming footprints
in the sand.

Death is not sudden;
it is the slow unraveling
of memory,
the steady fading of laughter
from the walls.

 

[Edna]

Death Is Not the End

Perhaps death is not darkness—
but a deeper dawn.
Perhaps the grave
is not a prison—
but a cradle turned inside out.

We fear the stillness
because we cannot hear
the music it carries.

But maybe—
when the eyes close here,
they open elsewhere.
Maybe—
when we fall into silence,
we wake in a song
we had forgotten we knew.

 

[Edna]

The Ship That Forgot Its Name

Once, I sailed with purpose.
Stars above, compass in hand,
the sea obeyed my will.

But storms came.
Waves rose like judgment.
And in the screaming wind,
my name was torn from the mast.

Now I drift—
not forward, not home—
but through endless gray.
The ocean speaks in riddles;
the horizon never answers.

Yet still I float.
For even lost ships
are held by the same sea
that once carried them toward dawn.

 

[Edna]

The Captain's Solitude

I am the captain of an empty ship.
The crew are ghosts,
the sails are memories.
The map has faded in the rain.

Each night,
I light a lantern
no one will see.
Each morning,
I pretend the fog is land.

There is no rescue coming.
Only the hum of the sea,
and the whisper—
that some journeys
were never meant
to return.