The Unspoken Archives

Among my prized possessions are words I’ll never say, by silence deeply stored. At first, they were quite personal, penned in sorrow’s ink, about his tears, his pain, upon a lonely brink. But as the years rolled onward, he saw a common truth: every one cries, dear reader, and every one suffers, truly. Yet, very few can write of tears, and bid the shadows fly. This deeply personal impulse to create led to discovering in those pages a tapestry unbound, of all the lovers she used to know and all the shadows that haunt them both, with tears he fears to know. Beyond these silent musings, a single, mismatched sock and a chipped ceramic mug tell their own whimsical tales. And finally, my dearest, most haunting, and most true are memories of laughter, shared with a chosen few, echoing softly when solitude descends – a ghostly, sweet reminder of long-lost, cherished friends…

Who You Are

If who I am is what I have,
And what I have is lost,
Then who am I?

A question pondered,
By many a soul,
As life’s journey unfolds.

But Jesus said,
“What good will it be,
For a man if he gains the whole world,
Yet forfeits his soul?”