Author Archives

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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.

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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.

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The Flux

by Liam

Do not be deceived by the word, ending

for what you call an end,

is but the shy opening of another door.

All things move in their own rhythm,

each life is a current of becoming, of growth,

each moment a threshold

where the unseen strives to find form.

Your past is never lost

it lingers, ringing as a faithful echo,

a mirror of the self you too once carried.

But memory is not a cage,

it is a root, quietly fertilizing 

the soil of your tomorrow.

Let your  patience soften joyfully into the flow of change,

Thereby shaping  with tenderness

the mighty clay of your becoming.

And when all the familiar falls away,

cling not to its absence which is surpassed,

but trust the shining horizon

already rising within you.

For nothing truly concludes.

Its from the silence,

new language is being born. 

Each new letter a eulogy 

to yourself.

The end, is but a beginning,

And us, forever in flux,

are eternal pilgrims of 

arrival.

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A Rhythm to Stillness 

by Liam

May the sheen of each early light,

gather gentle around your heart.

May the slow breath of this day,

steady the trembling of your life.

Here within the shelter of stillness,

you will again feel,

the ancient rhythm of your own soul.

Music older than words,

calling to guide you home.

May quietude wash the dust from your sight.

May the living ground beneath your step,

remind you of a grace that holds all things.

And when you venture once more

into the wilderness of the world,

may you carry calm, like a hidden spring,

nourishing 

every word,

every gesture,

every breath.

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Consider

by Liam

Should we consider,

It is the knowledge of the enquirer

to become nothing — and then peace within will reveal everything.

For yourself, this is the eloquence of the answer:

those pieces of your past

will become the peace you seek.

Wait, for time is not the ticking of the clock,

Instead the hand that turns the question’s lock.

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Individuation

by Liam

Ive walked a path coiling like a serpent,

through shadowed groves and sudden light,

With each step, echoed a name

I once thought was me.

The masks I wore, were 

polished for strangers,

and beneath them 

a thousand unspoken selves

begin to mumble .

Dreams spoken in riddles,

their tongues woven with moonlight and bone.

Opaque symbols risen from the depths 

the wise old one,

the wild child,

the dark twin.

I do not banish them.

I invite them into my eyes

Into a house, my heart

built from reconciliations,

each room a meeting place

where my shadow meets light & clasps hands.

Sovereign 

at the far edge of this inner continent,

I recognize 

it was never about becoming someone new,

but remembering

who stands looking me all along.