Poetry

Shaky

On the edge of a trembling tide, a shaky breath slips through the night— leaves quiver like hesitant thoughts, and shadows waver in pale moonlight. A hand that falters on old railings, a

Mauve

Mauve whispers over twilight’s hush, A shy bloom where violet and rose entwine, Painting the hills in a dusky blush, Like silk unfurled in a twilight line. It lingers on the hem

Tacky

In a shop of plastic rainbows, Where neon ties and sequined bows Hang like cheap confetti on a dull day, We call it tacky — bright, absurd, and gay. Yet somehow it pulls a

Uvula

A tiny pendant in the throat’s soft keep, The uvula dangles, a shy, pink bead, Guarding the gateway where breaths and words sweep, A vigilant sentior where food and air are fed.

Inner

Inner In the quiet chambers of the mind, Where thoughts unwind like soft-spun thread, A lantern flickers, gentle, kind— Its glow the secret places fed. Here feelings nest, both fierce and

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