Two waters \ / b r a i d into one specific current #vss365

There is no issue that my land can’t solve, the green hills hold their ancient, quiet prayer, where mist and stone and memory revolve in soft communion with the salted air. Each bog, each stream speaks peace in Irish tongue, a beauty older than the songs I’ve sung. #poetry #vss365

A strange distortion presented as theology, scripture made cruel. An apocalypse that split my skull. My issue: the mind is too small a vessel for this exhausting volume. #poetry #vss365

All things must fall and feed the waiting ground, the hawk, the stone, the sorrow we have known. There is a law where comfort can be found: what dies becomes the seed, the soil, the bone. Moss covers all with patient, final grace, and the beginning finds its resting place. #poetry #vss365

The tree remembers where the branch was torn, a ghost-limb aching in the empty air. I carry loss like winter carries thorn, a wound the seasons cannot quite repair. History is the scar I’ve learned to wear, the missing piece that follows everywhere. #poetry #vss365

Each creature holds a secret I can’t name, the beetle’s bronze philosophy, the moth’s soft heresy of flame. What ancient text does the sparrow read? What sermon hides in every seed? I am apprentice to their wild theology. #poetry #vss365

My heart conducts its secret business, kept like roots that trade in darkness underground. The currencies of mine have never slept; My tender commerce makes no outward sounds. #poetry #vss365

The rooks convene their dark assembly overhead, such urgent politics in their rusty throats. They barter news of their currencies, negotiate the day’s affairs with an eloquence. What business drives these otherworldly voices? I am merely a man, excluded from their commerce. #poetry #vss365

Light brushes treetops like a lover’s hand, so tender that my chest begins to ache. I wake to rays descending through the land, and something in my guarded spirit breaks. The forest holds me in its quiet prayer, and I am seen, and loved and cradled there. #poetry #vss365

We are the architects of our own pain, inventing cruelties nature never knew. We sharpen words like knives, we made the chain, we wound the very hearts we’re bound unto. Oh God, see what Your experiment became: a species drowning in its own cruel shame. #poetry #vss365 #humanity

The sun rises heliacal and thin, a ghost of summer’s lost golden reign, barely clearing autumn’s hem. Each dawn grows more reluctant, more pale, as if Light is also learning how to grieve, how to let go leaf by leaf, warmth by dimming warmth. #poetry #vss365

The tree still stands though lightning took its crown; I grew around the wound but never healed. The spring brought green, yet my grief had gone down into the roots where light will never feel. Terror is the knowing I remain a forest hollowed by eternal rain. #poetry #vss365

How does one name the fog that fills the chest, the tide that pulls yet leaves no mark on shore? My heart’s a tree where un- named birds won’t rest, a forest thick with paths I can’t explore. #poetry

The hawk hangs poised between the earth and sky, a prayer suspended in the wind’s own prayer. My heart hovers too, where the wild birds cry, torn between my cage and open air. #poetry #vss365

Like rust that spreads through iron left to rain, like poison seeping slow through root and vein, the fever grows, each lie a seed that takes, each fear a tempest that the darkness takes. We are the garden where the thorns now reign, androids of flesh forgetting we were sane. #vss365 #fascism

They’ve wound us tight; programmed puppets dancing to their script, each synapse fed a curated truth, each thought a line they’ve written for us. We move like androids believing we are free, our rebellion just another algorithm they designed. #poetry #vss365 #politics #fascism

Let not my hands grow thorns that wound and break, my tongue turn silver-sharp, a blade that grieves. I’d rather shatter into dust than cause such ache. #poetry

Sound splinters into a thousand fractured birds, each cry a newborn thorn. My mind is now a pool draining through infinite small holes. Flowers gasping. And then arid silence and my words are gone and the best thing to do is fall asleep but someone moves and I must say words. #poetry #vss365

Spice on my tongue, the bite of cardamom, turmeric’s golden sermon. This balti blazes like small suns in earthen bowls, a fire that speaks in languages my palate understands: heat as prayer, flavour as grace, abundance as absolution. #poetry #vss365

Beneath the canopy’s thick-woven prayer, the forest floor confesses all its wealth, not arid, but alive with hidden care: moss, fungus, rot that births itself to health. #poetry #vss365

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