Philosophical Poetry

The Soul's Canvas

emotional growth

  • Whose Steps Trail Yours?

    Whose Steps Trail Yours?

    Sifting through shadows,
    the phantom touch
    of what could be,
    you yearn for the intertwined fingers,
    the rhythm of two souls,
    marching in tandem.

    But there is this dance,
    that is an ancient truth,
    if it starts within.
    Are you joined in warmth,
    or just chasing illusions?
    Tethered to presence,
    or drifting in dreams?
    Can’t walk hand in hand,
    if you aren’t walking hand in hand.

    Thirty thousand sunrises,
    give or take a few thousand sunsets,
    the average span
    of a human dream,
    each with its own ache,
    its own wonder.
    Whose steps trail yours?
    Whose whispers do you hear?
    Chosen partner,
    or the shadow you cast alone?

    This trip,
    this never-ending scroll
    of awe and unknown,
    we name it life.
    And you,
    at the helm or riding shotgun,
    have your compass
    in the palm of your hand.

    How do you reach out?
    On what wavelength
    does your heart send?

  • Stubborn Grace

    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.