Though winters hurt this bark, my sap runs green, the boy who spoke to stones still dwells within. Beneath all seasons worn, all masks I’ve been, my roots drink deep from earth’s eternal spring. The greenheart knows no time: I am the same wild sapling breathing God through leaf and rain. #poetry

Through every season’s turn, through fire and frost, beneath the masks that time has bid me wear, my greenheart beats; it never has been lost. This boy who worshipped moss still kneels in prayer. The world may age this flesh, may bend this frame, but roots are deep - my soul stays wild, untame.

They made for her a cage. Every tyrant will fall, Every iron hand will be broken. #palestine

Let Éire’s hills no longer bow beneath the weight of chains disguised as sovereignty, like seedlings craving light through iron’s sheath, she strains towards her own soft liberty. Let rivers run to no man’s parliament; Let winds obey no border’s crude consent. #poetry #ireland

Lord, I am torn; my heart a shoal of teeth that circles ‘round the bait of Thy design. I hunger for relief, yet lurk beneath doubt’s murky water, drawn yet held by line. If faith’s a river, must I always be a piranha fearing its own hungry sea? #poetry #vss365

Though briars block the hidden path I seek, and mountains rise where valleys should be meek, I’ll move like water, patient, ever-bent on finding cracks through stone’s impediment. The root splits rock by slow determined prayer; so too shall I, arrive to meet you there. #poetry

I am two wolves circling the same open heart. #poetry

Memory swings its door on aching hinges wide; behind it dwells thy face, in moth-soft light. #vss365

Pre-dawn: the sky splits open its infinite archive; layer upon layer of light-years, each star a punctuation mark in eternity’s run-on sentence. Such verve the universe displays! Such shameless depth, such boundless showing-off. #poetry #vss365

The fog, this grey philosopher, arrives and steals the world I thought I knew by name. Each tree, each stone, all certainties, it deprives, dissolving solid things to ash and claim. Epistemology so cruel is this, where light itself becomes the soul’s abyss? #poetry #vss365

The dawn adorns herself in ashen light, a halo spun from ice and tender fire. What sacred geometry makes morning bright? #poetry #vss365

Space boy with upturned face; thou art stardust gazing at thine own ancestry. The cosmos contemplates itself through thy wonder-widened eyes. Thou art not separate from what thou seek’st: a universe dreaming itself. #poetry #cosmos

Our souls brush past in half-known grace I’ve seen thy light in dreams before. We are the echo, not the place, two keys that search for the same door. #poetry #anamchairde #vss365

We collide like almost-rhymes, close enough to ache. Your soul wears a face I knew in some forgotten dialect of dream. We are keys cut for locks that no longer exist; or do not yet. This clash: recognition’s spirit. #poetry #soulfriends #vss365

With daily regularity I rise towards you, my silver unreachable geometry of longing. This is love’s cruel mathematics. I’ll be forever reaching, forever falling back. #poetry #moon #tides

October’s artist has touched the trees, transmuting green to molten praise. Each leaf: a penny minted by the sun, spent gloriously in autumn’s grand economy. O copper cathedral! How richly death adorns itself before the fall. #poetry #autumn

When flags become the only psalms they sing, when questions die and leaders turn to kings! ~~~~~~~~~ Beware: the state has grown a temple, and thou art now the sacrifice. ~~~~~~~~~ No earthly throne deserves thy soul’s surrender. Keep thy mind unbranded, free, and tender. #poetry #freedom

How still you stand while Rome burns bright, as if the flames were merely weather, some distant, theoretical blight that cannot singe the common tether. What spell has turned your rage to sleep? What opiate makes bondage sweet? I wonder: how such self-defeat? #poetry #america

What holy thing arrests her stare; some seraph only she can see? Her eyes parse layers in the air where spirit dwells invisibly. Does she contain a finer sense that reads the text of unseen things? Her stillness speaks of recompense: she knows that silence truly sings. #poetry #mysticism #cats

I am a question without a sentence, gazing up at answers I lack words for. Each star: a punctuation mark in God’s unfinished sentence. Perhaps seeking itself is all the meaning there is? #poetry #stars

What falls was ocean once, a grey algebra ascending, then descending: pilgrim water on its kneeling journey home. Ancient as thirst itself, this circular psalm: the mountain drinks what sea exhales. #poetry

The sky draws tight, its black parenthesis enclosing the day’s syntax. What heavy thoughts does heaven think when clouds conspire thus? The gathering storm seems but the world’s held breath before weeping. #poetry #stormamy

Severed from her purple parliament, yet still she speakest; ghost-language lingering in every bruised cell. O residual grace! How death itself becomes a slower bloom, releasing what was held: the soul’s own violet whisper. #poetry #lavender

Your throat becomes a cavern where small demons dwell, all hiss and spit and fury. When fear unbraids your gentle tongue, you snarl: a prayer turned inside out, teeth and sovereignty. #poetry #cats

Brave fool in silver mail, dost thou not know the footpath is a Golgotha for pilgrims small as thee? Each human step: a phantom, a harbinger of doom. Yet still thou drag’st thy fragile universe across this perilous enormity. O courage, soft and glistening! #poetry

The hills wear halos, loose and grey, as if the veil ‘tween earth and prayer grew thin enough to touch today. God’s hem doth sweep the morning air. #poetry

Miniature monk in spiral cloister-shell, you carry heaven’s architecture, slow as a prayer. Silver-tongued philosopher who writes the grass with hymns, teach me your patient language, how tininess mirrors infinity. #poetry

Black oracle perched; thou know’st something I should not ask. Thy eye: a well where drowned stars speak in tongues of ash. What dreadful syllogism hides beneath that dead expression? I fear thy answer more than silence, more than God’s own riddled dark. #poetry

What alphabet the cat reads; invisible epistle writ in air’s own ink. He parses worlds my dull nose cannot decipher: each molecule a psalm, a secret verb that conjugates the unseen. O mystical surveyor of the threshold! #poetry #cats

The rain-washed air hangs pure as Eden’s first-drawn breath. #poetry