Philosophical Poetry

The Soul's Canvas

emotions

  • Ecology of Souls

    Ecology of Souls

    The air croons
    with unspoken things,
    a vast, unseen web,
    like mycelium beneath the woods,
    binding every breath.

    The old man,
    still sitting on the bench,
    his eyes fixed in a cloud
    a distance away,
    adds to the silence shared,
    a root sipping slow knowledge.

    The elated dancer
    spinning, a blur of motion,
    releasing joy,
    a spurt of pollen,
    seeds carried on the wind,
    to fertilize forgotten corners.

    A child’s wild laughter,
    a sudden burst of light,
    shocks the grackles,
    and radiates out,
    contagiously undeniable.

    The mourning widow,
    a stone thrown
    into a calm lake,
    casts concentric circles of sorrow,
    that touch distant
    unseen shores.

    We are not islands,
    though we feel solitary,
    each thought, each feeling,
    a unique creature
    in a linked ecosystem,
    interdependent.

    The sharp word,
    a toxic spill,
    can taint the nearby stream.
    The gentle touch,
    a spring rain,
    nourishes the thirsty soil.

    And when one heart departs,
    it’s not an end, but a beginning,
    a shift, a transformation,
    the essence of existence
    returning
    to feed the earth
    of what remains.

    Continuous cycle,
    of giving and receiving,
    of blooming and fall,
    the ecology of souls,
    breathing in, breathing out,
    now and forever.

  • Sometimes

    Sometimes

    Sometimes, our eyes betray us,
    Revealing more than we can hold.

    Sometimes, it’s better
    To turn away,
    To let one side remain in shadow.

    Sometimes, we feel too deeply,
    Our hearts stretch and hurt
    So profoundly.
    Sometimes, we laugh so joyfully,
    And love with all we are.

    Sometimes, our senses overwhelm us.
    Sometimes, it’s better
    To let one side remain unseen.

    Do we show up in fragments,
    Pieces waiting to be reassembled
    And reinterpreted?
    Or do we arrive whole,
    Complete, with all our
    Imperfections, cracks and missing parts?

    Our hopes and dreams
    Rooted in the solid ground
    Of what we can truly offer,
    And what we truly need.

    Sometimes, we see so little.
    Sometimes, it’s enough
    To just arrive—
    To stand and show up for life.

    Sometimes,
    My mirrors reflect
    Sometimes,
    My roots grow deep
    Into the earth of connection
    Sometimes,
    I am fire.
    Sometimes,
    I am ash.
    Sometimes,
    I am present.

    Sometimes, I wonder why.
    Sometimes, I wonder how.
    Sometimes, I wonder when.
    Sometimes, I wonder what.

    Sometimes, I start.
    Sometimes, I finish.
    Sometimes, I give up.
    Sometimes, I am the fight.

    Sometimes, we want more.
    Sometimes, we want less.
    Sometimes, we find the balance
    Of what to give.

    Sometimes, I play God.
    Sometimes, I serve the world.
    Sometimes, I am

    Sometimes,
    In the still moment of silence.

    And sometime,
    Once upon a time.

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