Monthly Archives: November 2025

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Solar Heart

by Liam

I’ve seen the quiet tremors of your gaze,

the way your pulse outshines the afternoon,

as if your breath were woven out of days,

that learned their language from a rising moon.

You speak, and dormant gardens break their sleep;

you move, and hidden continents shift their flow.

The world shuffles in, to listen to the deep

unfolding of a light it longs to know.

What secret spark first stirred this inner fire?

What cosmic gravity drew a flame to heart?

Your presence bends reality to desire,

A flame claims, love begins to start.

In your heart the sun is an exploding flame,

and the sky so blue 

will never be the same.

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Finding Infinity

 by Liam

It’s when my body’s weak, not strong, 

My breath, its flow, is soft and slow. 

Eyes, they burn, 

Onto my aching side, I turn.

Here, thinking is my feeling, Feeling thoughts which intertwine. 

It’s deep to reach my inner speech, 

Walk around inside my busy mind. 

Those soft persuasive voices, 

The conversation between Me and me.

The things I do, 

The decisions made, 

The here, the now, 

The story played, 

The wonder of a wish come true, 

The simple fact of me and you.

Not time, but rhythm, a calling, 

Words, thoughts, we dance, we sing, 

Into the music of this space, 

All quiet, absolutely true, this ring.

Gratefully gliding, moving, 

We spin timeless to the floor. 

Serendipity’s grin, 

Eternity’s win, 

Creativity’s cry, 

Magical eye.

Grateful, my art in hand,

Mindful, for you set me free.

Creatively, now we stand,

Happily, smile into infinity.

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The Art of Words

by Liam

Let me learn this art of words, I say,

To shape the sounds that linger in the air,

To sculpt the dawn from dreams in which we play,

And weave the truth these willing hands can bear.

For language is a lantern in the night,

A bright spark shining when the paths depart;

It warms the cold, restores my fading sight,

And carries mystery from the deepest part.

Which—tumble humble from my heart—they all,

Like scattered petals drifting in the breeze;

Yet still they rise to answer some faint call

And settle softly where another sees.

So grant my voice, that gentle souls may hear

The blossom of this art made bright and clear.