Philosophical Poetry - Poems on Life, Love & Truth

Poems on Life, Love, and Truth

Brimming Cup, Open Heart

The soft rustling of aloneness,
not an empty echo,
but a breathed in air.

Space to untangle,
threads of self,
spun and known.

No clutching hand required
to feel the pulse of the world,
the wind a soft touch,
the stars a silent knowing.

This self, rooted and whole,
offers not an empty vessel,
but a filled cup.

Love then,
is a giving not a clinging,
two solid shores
meeting courteously,
the open sea between,
respected, understood,
a bond freely chosen
rather than desperately sought.

For in that solitude,
the heart discovers its own song
To truly sing in harmony .

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
A Shadow and a Light

I would not trade the soft whispers of my soul
for the bright music of fleeting praise.
Nor the shadows that give it shape
to melt in the radiance of endless sunlit days.
I would wish my spirit a shadow and a light.

A shadow to give me solace and the space
to feel the textures of the world unseen.
A light to guide my footsteps through the labyrinth
and find loveliness in what might have been.

A shadow to ground me to the earth’s dark center;
A light to lift my gaze to distant, promising skies.

I would rather my way had a seeking heart than that I accepted dull conjecture.

I crave the ache of reaching for the stars above,
for those who settle for dust have lost their deep hue.
I have known the thrum of a love that burns,
and its soft whisper rings more clear and true.

When the evening falls, the tired bird takes rest
and dreams of flying on the morning breeze.
As sunrise wakes it leaves the sheltered nest
to greet the largeness with a glad prayer.

The life of birds is quest and return.
A shadow and a light.

The river flows from mountain’s height away
and gains strength from every winding stream.
It cuts its course through darkness and through light
until it flows to the sheen of the ocean.

The life of rivers is a sharing and a gain.
A shadow and a light.

And thus the self departs its boundless source,
to wander through the landscapes of the Now,
through the summits of strife and the span
of peaceful valleys where gentle breezes blow.

To reach the final current, smooth and deep,
and lose itself once more where all beginnings sleep.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
The Unencumbered Heart

A refined love
as pure as mountain air,
unconcerned with gain or loss,
unaffected by the whispers
of the market
or the balance of favors.

It is a spark unfolding quietly
in the soul’s hearth,
like a fern reaching for light
in a dark forest.
The ego’s hard knot unwinds;
fingers unclench their hold
on what they once held dear,
still surrendering to something more.

We are a clear pane of glass,
allowing kindness to pass through—
unobstructed, pure.

Like a river carving a new channel,
it nudges us out of our small ways
into unseen lands of empathy.

A gentle teacher,
it speaks of courage found in giving,
of strength born from weakness,
of a self reformed by what it gives,
not by what it takes.

It is the unseen hand
placing us higher,
one selfless act at a time,
toward the glistening potential
we barely knew existed.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
When the Well Dries Up

When the well dries up,
and the road ahead flattens out,
I’ll look out—

not to a distant hero,
but to the faces I pass
every day.

There, the unwavering glint in her eye,
a relentless thrum of work—
that’s vigor.

And him, the quiet flush
creeping up his neck
when complimented—
that’s modesty.

Then her hand, always open,
giving time,
an ear, a meal to spare—
that pours over,
an actual generosity.

It’s not a theoretical proposition,
these virtues.
They’re living next to me,
walking the same roads,
laughing, sharing burdens together.

A constant,
quiet rain of compassion.
A reminder of what is present,
what thrives,
in the shared air between us.

And if they can carry it,
piece by piece,
then so can I.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
The Air Between Us

Pulse Point

The air is charged,
not with storm,
but the quiet thrum between us.
A current, invisible,
but drawing, pulling my eye,
my breath, to yours.

Your hand,
a cautious bird
alighting on my arm,
trills shivers not of dread,
but a wild, beating hope.

The world outside fades,
a hum in the background
to the sharp,
suddenly intense focus
of your eyes.
A cosmos contained
in their depths,
a whirlpool swirling galaxies
I want to explore.

My own heart,
usually a steady drum,
now a crazed hummingbird
beating against my ribcage.
Each beat an echo
of the unspoken question
hanging in the air
between our lips.

A silence so charged,
it crackles.
A held breath
before a leap.

Then the slightest movement,
a lean forward,
and the world turns
on its axis.
The brush of your fingers
against mine,
a spark that ignites
a wildfire inside.

My blood pounds,
like a thundering tide in my ears.
And in that arrested moment,
before any words spoken,
before any touch yet realized,
there is nothing but raw,
untamed promise
of something earth-shaking,
something magically,
horrid real.

My soul,
compass whirling wildly,
at last, irrevocably,
sets my North
only to you.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
The Intertwining

Relationships end,
by the silent selfish decisions
we make in secrecy and
carve into the stone.

You say it first to yourself,
tattoo it on your partner’s heart,
but the words linger
like a burden they were
never intended to bear.

A moment’s space,
a breath of air,
becomes a gulf
unintentionally carved.

We hear stories of bonds
blessed and unbroken,
a melody composed
by numerous harmonious voices.

One truth sings:
Two souls traveling together,
hand in hand,
even across desolate areas,
discover that the landscape
is shifting and that
there is a constant dance
of motion and stillness.

It is the rhythm of life itself:
the steady beat,
the comforting rest,
the sleep that revives,
the shelter shared in common,
the roots that tie.

It is the courage to say
the truth of your senses:
the colors that stain your portrait,
the scents that stir your remembrance,
the emotions that beat within,
the thoughts that form your world.

Are these given,
shared with the waiting ear,
the seeing eye?

And is your partner visible,
known in their own right?

Is it not the intertwining of moments,
the micro and the macro,
that forge the strongest ties?

The treasure is not
in running away from demons,
but in walking together through them,
hand in hand,
to the dawn of day.

The path has been trod
by many feet.
Seek wisdom in those
who have trod before you,
embrace the solace of solitude,
the healing power of forgiveness,
the strength of connection,
the softness of compassion,
the unwavering hand of grace,
the quiet certainty of faith,
the boundless ocean of love,
and the simple gift of self.

And have your stories told,
by ears that truly hear,
by eyes that truly see.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
Bridges of the Scattered Self

When estrangement gains its hold,
a quiet severing begins,
not only from the voices without,
but from the murmur within.

We imagine the gulf yawns
only between ourselves and another,
a space grown cold and wide.

But look again.
The mind wanders a forgotten path,
a memory foggy with time,
or a future yet unspun.

Thoughts drift like leaves
blown far,
on a wind we cannot name.

And the body
experiences the phantom pull
of somewhere else
while remaining rooted
in this precise moment.

Even the eyes,
which are windows
to an invisible world,
gaze blankly into the present
while concentrating
on a far-off shore.

Our fragmented
and scattered selves,
each floating aimlessly
in its own ocean.

Kindness
should therefore be
a gentle hand
that unites all differences.
And respect
the bridge we build,
thought by careful thought.
Allow connection to be
the gathering, a homecoming
of all our scattered parts,
welcomed back
into the warmth of now.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
Stubborn Grace

A stubborn beast
with its feet firmly planted
in the muddy field
of my own errors.

Anguish is a dense fog
that swirls, blinds, and steals
the recognizable features
of my own soul.

The birdsong was a distant,
inaudible hum,
and fingers brushed
against petals
that had once been vibrant
but were now dull and quiet.

Indeed, forgiveness is a river
that churns through rocky terrain,
a constant murmur
against jagged edges,
finds the yielding ground,
and forges a new path.

Or rain, a gentle veil
dissolving the grime
that adheres to my skin,
a clean canvas waiting
for a fresh day.

Seasons change, my friend,
leaves unfold, then fall,
and the only thing that
accompanies this long journey
is the steady, slow rhythm
of our own two feet—
possibly a shimmering wand.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Let It Be Now

Be enveloped by what you desire,
like morning fog
embracing mountain peaks—
the space between wanting and having
dissolved into mist.

When thought and feeling is one,
a river joining the sea,
no longer separate currents
but a single flowing truth.

Ask—without judgment.
The future becomes the present
when we believe
as if it already happened—
time folding,
creasing now into then.

Feel the outcome,
walk backward into joy—
footprints appearing
before each step,
echoes preceding your voice.

Do not pray for,
instead, let it be now—
the seed already a forest,
the journey already home.

Where light casts no shadow,
there is no depth.
Truth is a meeting
free of illusion
and masks.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.

Poems on Life, Love, and Truth

Pulse Point