Author Archives

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The Art of Being Human

by Liam

Allow yourself to be a born human;

to arrive as a growing symphony of life,

a fierce flame carried forth from the dusk.

Allow yourself to become;

the living song you sing whose truths gather

in your bones,

until your very presence

is an ode to belonging.

Allow yourself to be alive:

to be drawn into the gravity of your own becoming,

to listen to the quiet music

hidden beneath your breath.

Allow yourself to trust;

that every step is held by an ancient knowledge  

that remembers you.

An individual discovering the meaning of the mystery.

A soul slowly learning

the art of its own delight.

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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.

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The Art of Becoming

By Liam

They say I am growing old, that time is stripping me of who I once was, leaving behind only regret and solitude.

But no, what they mistake for age is something else entirely. I am not fading; I am maturing.

I have ceased to be the shape into which others wished to mold me.

I no longer hunger for approval, no longer lean into mirrors that distort rather than reveal. 

Instead, I have turned inward, where quietude inspires truth.

I am not withdrawing,

I  am choosing. 

Choosing where my soul feels at home, with whom my spirit truly sings. 

Let’s uplift rather than constrain, 

Let’s create thoughts which nourish rather than consume.

Not from indignation, but in reverence for my own well-being.

I have traded restless nights for wakeful learning, exchanged borrowed stories for those now woven with my own hands. 

No longer hidden beneath the disguises of expectation, 

I carry not masks but books, each page a window, each word a light.

No, I am not growing old. I am unfolding.

There is a fresh pulse in my soul, a child’s wonder still alive in my heart. 

The cocoon I once clung to is breaking open, and what emerges will soar to places untouched by those bound only to the weight of this world.

I smile now with the ease of one who knows that simplicity is sacred. 

I walk more slowly, not from weariness but from a desire to see what others rush past. 

I hold silence, not because I lack words, but because not all words are meant to be spoken.

No, I am not growing old. 

I am beginning, at last, to become alive.

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Neither Self nor Shore

by Liam

Watching, the ocean takes me too,

and moves me with it,

not just the body,

but the quiet places

language never touches.

This tide rises then falls, defining my periphery,

dissolving perception

until I am neither self

nor shore.

Becoming pulse and current,

foam and undertow,

a surge that erodes even language.

And yet, when I return

to the weight of my own skin,

sand clinging to form,

I carry the hush of that vastness,

the resonant syllable of water,

molecules alive, move inside me.

Crystallizing   slowly, create these, the letters of my moment.

by

The Embrace 

by Liam

In a quiet moment, my love met me there,

The wine’s red stain upon her lips,

Her ruby lockets curl with graceful care,

Now deep into my eyes her gaze now slips.

Her embrace transforms my very face to hers,

So we touch not with bodies, but with sighs,

In that kiss, the world around us blurs,

And all we share is in our eyes.

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The Song of Silence 

by Liam

In a hundred different ways, silence speaks in its own language

Only you can understand that tongue. 

What we hear is more beautiful than poetry

More eloquent than these words I write.

It is the hush where souls meet,

The quiet doorstep where we recognize one another,

As if the long road turned here

This meeting 

The end and beginning.

And so, I come home,

Not to a place, but to the shelter of your being,

Where silence blossoms into belonging,

And every new arrival is already complete.

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My Love Rose

by Liam

I have whispered to a rose with petals red,

Within lies an image of your face concealed;

Each blossom a memory of the grace by which you thread,

The sweet perfume of your story thus revealed.

The bud in a bouquet, rough with thorns in place,

Yet you remain unharmed by their cruel art;

Reach I to free you from their sharp embrace,

With a gentle grasp, yet will I win your heart?

Place I now the rose, soft upon this pillow fair,

Where magic dwells and gentle dreams entwine;

Your presence scents the hush of starlit air,

And makes my mortal heart beat more like thine.

Oh red rose, whose beauty sings your name,

In you, my love finds pleasure and its flame.