PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In the cradle’s whisper, a storm stirs silent screams —

tendrils of terror twist through soft, surrendered flesh,

where shadows whisper, pleading in unheard dreams.

Eyes, wide and wounded, find darkness a caress.

Guttural growls of grown-up ghosts crawl

beneath the skin, fragmented memories shatter the calm.

Petrified promises hang in heavy air,

their fractured echoes dance, a ghostly, grimy psalm.

Mother’s touch, a cruel, cool breeze,

father’s gaze, a void of invisible snares —

a cold bite of silence, a biting freeze,

crushed souls, tethered by threads of despair.

In this maelstrom of madness,

the child’s heart learns to dance,

a bitter ballet on a broken stage —

scarred, circled by a fractured glance.

Screams stifled, silence screams,

hollow hums of safety lost,

where trust dissolves into endless seams,

hopes erased by pain’s bitter cost.

Whispers in the night, hands too rough,

secrets buried in the dawn’s cruel light.

A touch that wounds, a world turned cold,

where childhood’s spark is shattered, withdrawn from sight.

Yet as the years unfold, another storm brews —

a metal maelstrom, 46 fractures’ cruel jest.

A car’s collision, a new plight to choose,

a body wrecked, a soul put to the test.

Eight years of rehab, a painful climb,

through the grinding weight of chronic pain.

Vestibular vertigo, arthritis’s chime,

fibromyalgia’s whispers, a relentless strain.

Each step a battle, each breath a trial,

pain’s weight draped on hopes and dreams.

Walking’s victory comes, but for a while,

each move reopens old, forgotten seams.

Even now, amidst the blinding flare,

these struggles suffocate, refuse release.

Friendships falter, bonds strained by despair —

an ever-present ache, a longing for peace.

Eyes once bright, now sunk in sorrow,

each tear tells tales of a fractured fate.

Connections wither, trust’s seeds hollow,

relationships dissolve, ghosts echoing late.

Each betrayal, a cut, deep and deeper still,

each rejection, a scar etched in shame,

where self-doubt feeds, the silent reaper’s will,

a world of terror — a relentless, roaring flame.

The struggle to connect feels like a cage,

a prison of pain where loneliness reigns.

Hands reach out, but always disengage,

a heart’s cry lost in the echoes of chains.

Yet even in the dark, the light endures —

a fragile flicker, a tender touch of grace.

Time’s gentle hands reach out, offering cures,

each scar a story, each wound a place.

Here, amidst the pain, light breaks through,

a testament to endurance, a soul’s rebirth.

From the depths of despair, strength is renewed,

to reclaim joy, and walk once more on Earth.

But still, the struggle persists, an unyielding fight,

in every bond, a shadow looms.

Though hope’s light shines through the night,

the scars of past pain still haunt like tombs.