Philosophical Poetry

The Soul's Canvas

inner journey

  • The Unheard Resonance

    The Unheard Resonance

    The messenger walks alone,
    a solitary silhouette
    against the uproar.

    Truth-
    a stripping away,
    a release
    from grasping hands.

    Life-
    a spiral of paradoxes,
    wealthy threads unseen,
    humming on notations
    withheld from others.

    Relationships stretch,
    tense and far,
    across ground of varying mind.

    Wisdom spoken
    in a forgotten language,
    falling on ears
    that cannot decipher its old script.

    Misunderstood-
    a loud echo,
    how can they perceive
    the revealed gem
    when they hold only
    familiar stones?

    The great ones, too,
    traveled this path
    a lonely expanse
    before the dawn
    of understanding.

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

  • 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.

  • Wondering Into I Can

    Wondering Into I Can

    The illusion of I can’t
    Evaporates into a gentle wind,
    To become an inevitable I can.

    And its box of reasons
    Turn to wheel,
    When the seed of want,
    Is planted in the soil of passion.

    Watered with
    The feelings of wondering love,
    And nourished by
    The thoughts of creative imagination.

    The bud of possibility
    Finds a way through doubts,
    It spreads courageous leaves too
    That can seize the chance light.

    Each period of development
    It is a silent protest
    Within the quiet words of boundaries,
    At the same time, mute declaration
    Of the unexplored capacities.

    The map of the inner realm
    Changes in numerous ways
    The horizons that seemed remote
    Now lie close to extended hands.

    In the field of confidence,
    Where “I can’t’ withers away,
    Whereas “I can” grows
    Into vast forests of endless becoming.

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