“turning clean”
endless turns mark the hour,
the hand moving
through whatever pain waits,
its cold watching
set against a heart
already bruised by the ringing
keeps its own pace,
a kind of steady proving
the day carries
a cry held low,
quiet running through
a stretch of dark,
the road longer walking
twilight thinning into a soft fading
the weight settling,
the breath tightening
smiles try to hold the daylight,
brief staying
grief rising again,
its circle returning
affection gone thin,
a ghost drifting morning
the wish for what was still there,
still reaching
inside this drift,
this looping turning
we look for a small lift,
a breeze easing
the chest for a moment,
enough of a clearing
to keep going, to find
a corner worth keeping
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 21st, 2026 05:08
- Comment from author about the poem: Hope you all enjoy this. It comes from a certain place🕊️🙏
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, sorenbarrett, Paul Bell, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: 2026.
Offline)
Comments9
Your poem captures the struggle to find solace and meaning amid life's inevitable cycles of sorrow and renewal.
Thanks Friendship🙏🕊️
These words raise like smoke drifting through light and dark making bends and swirling trying to find meaning and shape in a world of change from day to night and seasons. Well written my friend
And at times we drift along. Thank you dear friend🙏🕊️
Always most welcome Cryptic
This reads like a journey of despair, and sadly there seems no end to it.
Even when things turn bright, something changes it back.
Yup, can be a debilitating frustration, Paul. Thanks heaps🙏🕊️
Lyrical and restrained—this moves like time itself pressing gently but persistently on the body.
The grit is in the repetition: motion continuing even when everything inside is asking for stillness.
Just so like life. Thanks, Thomas🙏🕊️
And did that relationship ever....?
It eventually does... some a better ride that others.
Good write A.
Thank you O.
This feels like those stretches where you’re just trying to make it through…looking for even the smallest bit of relief to keep going. I’ve known that rhythm, and you captured it honestly. Strong piece and very much enjoyed, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Making it through, barely scraping passed. Many thanks, amigo 🙏🕊️
The Hands of Time always outpace the Heart sadly. Good Write.
The head is quick and the heart takes its time. Indeed, thank you, Kevin 🙏🕊️
Fine words Rij, may our time never stop.
Andy
Amen to that, Andy🕊️🙏🏻
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.