The Philosophical Poetry

The Soul's Canvas

metaphor

  • Egg of the Unknown

    Egg of the Unknown

    Darkness of the unknown
    Lays an egg that goes astray.
    A crystal tear, and an honest smile:
    Praise the believer,
    And forgive the blind.

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

  • Be a Poem

    Be a Poem

    Be the ink on the page that twirls and dances,
    Depicting sublime concepts in words.
    Be the metered pulsation, point, and rhythm’s fluctuation.
    Let the muse guide ideas through poetry’s maze.

    Be the metaphor that reveals the essence,
    Interwoven layers of meaning.
    Be the imagination that ignites an inner sense,
    Transforming abstractions into images that soar aloft.

    Be raw emotions on the lines,
    Joy with sorrow, passion in between.
    Whisper too, and let some soulful cry be fine,
    Musical language, beautifully designed.

    When people are most dejected, be their light,
    Directing lost ships: in darkness show
    The warm glow of lighthouses for those who wander at night,
    A gentle morning breeze caressing softly as thoughts flow.

    Let your voice be piercing yet gentle like any poet’s,
    A beacon through the mundane veil.
    Be always stanzas that never grow old,
    Their value known regardless of time’s tale.

    Be the poem
    That is reborn with each new reading’s breath.
    Make wonder-miracles, create verses that
    Defy death in triumph and break the silence.

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

  • I Always Catch Up

    I Always Catch Up

    I kick my can,
    But I always catch up.

    I pick up my can,
    I empty it and I kick my can,
    But I always catch up.

    I pick up my can,
    I fill it and I kick my can,
    But I always catch up.

    I kick my can into tomorrow,
    But I always catch up today.

    I kick my can, it’s dented now,
    But I always catch up, somehow.

    I kick my can in endless loops,
    But I always catch up, in swoops.

    I kick my can, my legs grow weary,
    But I always catch up, theory and query.

    I kick my can towards the stars,
    But I always catch up, near and far.

    I kick my can through seasons’ change,
    But I always catch up, time’s range.

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

  • I Paint With Words

    I Paint With Words

    I paint
    with words,
    a dreamscape
    of the mind.
    A sunrise heard
    in hues of gold,
    A lover’s kiss,
    sweet and tender,
    A storm raging
    with wild abandon.
    I paint with words,
    And you are
    my canvas.

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