the midnight library hides its name
in lamplit dust and borrowed flame
here poems rest, here echoes keep,
their rhymes awake while readers sleep
raise words, not voices
Each piece is superseded by a feeling. You know which one. Because when you read the pages contained here, you’ll feel your own. At least that’s the hope. Within, you will find a range of sentiments, reflecting all the varying seasons of my life, surrounded by friends and foes. Have a look inside.
“Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”
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the author
a collector of quiet moments
written in the margins of ordinary days
when thoughts loosen their grip
and words come out to play
This space was built for words to be seen and heard. Interpreted and entirely reimagined as if it was your own. There are no answers waiting, just presence. Read slowly. Leave with whatever feels like it belongs to you.
tunnels built underground
walls so thick the only noise around
is the cry my voice utters aloud
darkness stretching far and wide
dexterous, denying light for miles
fighting the urge, playing with fire
this cavernous space by myself is a maze
insanity beckons me to stay
how long have i been in this place?