My poetic side

My poetic side is truly a blessing to me,
By writing in this site - and can be myself freely,
This site has led me to great friends and kind souls,
I’ve grown close to many and they make me feel whole ,
I’ve found love here, though right now we are only best friends ,
In time- I have absolutely no doubts in how our story ends,
My poetic side is a way to write down and share,
All the ways life can break us and we can show
support and care ,
So this is a thank you to Julian and this incredible site I think of as family in a way,
I thank the Lord for this blessing every day

When everyone's gone,
and it seems you are by yourself;
You know you have your poetic side,
for my poetic side to help.
Sometimes you may know what to put.
Sometimes you may not.
Sometimes it may be silly.
Sometimes you may write a lot.
All that really matters,
is what you put in the pot.

A chance to reflect at the end of another long day.
Letting your thoughts and feelings land on the page.
A place of safety to express how you really feel
Even if things have not been going to well.
A community that all write about their own life experiences
Without the fear of judgement by you sharing it.
Long may the poetic community thrive and survive
To enable all the poets to keep all the words alive.

Let me write again,
how I like my poetic side.
I will always write my best,
no matter how hard I tried.
I met alot of people from the start.
Now I don't think, me and this site will ever part.
I see different people,
when I come on this site.
... and when I leave;
I feel more... write.

*****
In the past we put pen to paper,
Today we type on keyboards
And send the writings out into the world.
We know friends out there will read
And respond.
The Internet reaches where papers cannot do :
We have friends that perhaps
Never will we meet.
It’s like ships passing each other
On the vastness of the ocean.
A glimpse of a few moments,
Then silence.
One by one we will stop posting,
For such is the unstoppable life.
Others will wonder what happened to us,
There might be no reply,
Or a sad reply by some survivor
Who happened to know...
(SR. 17.6.2025)
*****

Words collect like morning dew on leaves—
offered, absorbed, refracted—
a quiet exchange in the rhythms of being.
Voices scatter across a vast terrain
gently meeting with fierce exclamations,
each one feeding, each one fed.
Community thrives beneath unseen threads
binding both fragile and the bold,
roots deepening in shared soil.
(arqios)

I love you for being you
I love you for letting me be me
I don't love cloudfare
A minor tragedy!