what's beyond the brightness
Wow! Your poems are getting better every day!
so sweet of you to say - thanks!
This is so good! I'm a fan. Love, Virg
aww thanks !! <3
Beautiful Lila!!!
thank you so much !! : )
Dear Ms. Park,
Your poem felt like you were naming the weather I’ve been walking through.
That sunlit bed ... I know that place where warmth is both blessing and warning,
where the light is so gentle it hurts because you know it won’t stay.
I tell people I fear nothing, and in the old ways it’s true.
The dark doesn’t shake me.
Storms don’t shake me.
Loss and endings ... I’ve met them all.
The world can’t rattle me like it once did.
But your poem touched the quieter truth:
the only things I fear now are the ones I don’t name ...
losing what’s warm, what’s rare,
the small bright things I finally let myself hold.
You wrote that ache clean ...
how hope feels fragile,
how we build a life in improvisations because the future won’t hold still.
And how the world can take everything in one breath,
yet the heart keeps opening anyway.
Your words don’t ask for pity ... just recognition.
And I recognize them.
Deeply.
Sometimes the bravest thing we do is keep our hands open, even knowing what the wind can take.
Steve
thanks steve!
it seems you truly understand. your last line summarizes it all very well
Wow! Your poems are getting better every day!
so sweet of you to say - thanks!
This is so good! I'm a fan. Love, Virg
aww thanks !! <3
Beautiful Lila!!!
thank you so much !! : )
Dear Ms. Park,
Your poem felt like you were naming the weather I’ve been walking through.
That sunlit bed ... I know that place where warmth is both blessing and warning,
where the light is so gentle it hurts because you know it won’t stay.
I tell people I fear nothing, and in the old ways it’s true.
The dark doesn’t shake me.
Storms don’t shake me.
Loss and endings ... I’ve met them all.
The world can’t rattle me like it once did.
But your poem touched the quieter truth:
the only things I fear now are the ones I don’t name ...
losing what’s warm, what’s rare,
the small bright things I finally let myself hold.
You wrote that ache clean ...
how hope feels fragile,
how we build a life in improvisations because the future won’t hold still.
And how the world can take everything in one breath,
yet the heart keeps opening anyway.
Your words don’t ask for pity ... just recognition.
And I recognize them.
Deeply.
Sometimes the bravest thing we do is keep our hands open, even knowing what the wind can take.
Steve
thanks steve!
it seems you truly understand. your last line summarizes it all very well