poem
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“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” — Pierre Teilhard de Chardin When I Die Bury me beneath the hush of pine,where resin weeps in golden threadsand roots murmur secrets to the soil. Mark me not with chiseled stone,no name, no weight of letters—let the…
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She loved being chased. Not just for the thrill, but for the way it made her feel less alone. Like the world still turned for her, like someone, somewhere, believed she was worth the pursuit. She hated being caught. Hated the moment when the hands reached her waist, when desire became expectation, when the chase…
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The moon spills silver across your skin,soft shadows tracing secrets I ache to unveil.You stir beneath my gaze, a breath—half a sigh,half an invitation I dare not refuse.Heat lingers between us, unsaid but understood,a silent language written in shivers and sighs. bb grey Let me linger, leisurely, with the weight of my stare,as you lie—naked,…
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“We are all just echoes of something we can never fully hear.” bb grey You dangled your limbs—loosely, languidly, long—over the edge of a timeworn pier,where salt gnawed the timber to shades of grey and black,a stark contrast to the soft ivory of your skin. You traced slow circles,toe-tips dipping like the plucking of a…
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“I will die. Morning arrived in a muted gray, the silence heavy, almost suffocating. I stood at the edge of our life together, fingers twitching with the impulse to reach out, to fix something already shattered. She had left in the night, returned without explanation. Her absence was a wound; her presence, a reminder…
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“We are together, yet alone—bound by unseen threads, separated by silence.” bb grey We are all prisoners, though the bars shift shape.Some are gold, some are rust, some we never see at all.A crown is a heavy thing, even when invisible.Even when it is only a thought, pressing down. Serfdom—voluntary, reluctant, inevitable.We sign the contract…
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“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” — Rumi In fields of wheat spun gold at harvest’s crest,as storm-blue skies, speckled with grey,spill rain like rose petals—nude and pink—against ivory clay, smooth, untouched,waiting for the weight of oil and pastel,for the whisper of charcoal, for colors in between. A stroke of…
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Martyred saint,Cupid’s arrow—Lost in flight,A vision narrow. Lover’s dream,Divorcée’s scheme,‘Til death we vowed,Then tore the seams. Better to love and lose, they say,Than never love at all—A hollow phrase,That left me small. I type and think of you,Wishing none of it were true.Yet time makes spaceFor history’s embrace. I smile at memoriesI still chase.
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I am an ugly piece of art. That’s what my phone screen blinked in the text box. Next to it, her portrait—the love of my life. Blonde-haired royalty, her head tipped back in laughter, the weight of her beauty too much for her to bear. Or maybe just too much for me. I had…
BB Grey--musings 