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 an honest attempt to name feelings that resist easy language. This blog holds narrative, confessional poems drawn from lived moments and their quiet aftermath—where softness meets hurt and truth matters more than polish. These poems carry both weight and tenderness, inviting you to pause, feel, and find something familiar in the telling.Rumi: "Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder." Latest Blog Entries
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 library was created as a place for poems to rest, not to perform. Where they are kept, not for answers, but for company. The author welcomes you to read slowly, and leave with only what follows you.