Anie
@anie
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"Stillness, After the Storm"
I unlace the hours,
one frantic second at a time,
letting the noise tumble out
like breath from a drowning chest.
The city hums behind my ribs—
a fading neon memory—
its sirens still echo in my pulse
but fainter now, like dreams at dawn.
I drink silence
in slow, uneven sips,
tongue learning the taste
of unhurried rain,
of wind that doesn't chase.
My hands forget the weight
of clocks, of calendars,
of phones that screamed like crows
at the edge of every moment.
In this exile of peace,
I remember myself—
not the version stitched in deadlines
but the soft, unbranded soul
that once watched clouds and meant it.
Here, in the gentle collapse
of doing,
of proving,
of running—
I am simply.
And that is enough.
©️anie 1 reply
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Fading Echoes
A voice once bright, now tangled in dusk,
spun through the hands of a clockless sky.
The air remembers what I cannot,
a whisper dissolving in rain.
Light bends, but never touches—
a phantom glow on water’s skin.
The river moves without a name,
pulling shadows from their silence.
I gather the dust of forgotten things,
a threadbare hush, a hollow breath.
Time sings with an open wound,
its melody dripping through the cracks.
Still, the world turns,
spilling echoes into the void.
And I, a flicker, a faltering note,
unravel into nothing.
©️anie. 1 reply
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Fractured Horizon
Sky—unstitched, unspoken—
a riddle unraveled in shards of fire,
falling upward, downward, nowhere,
reflections bleeding into the edges of time.
Hands unseen move silence like tides,
placing voids where answers should be,
each piece, a whisper, almost fitting,
almost whole, almost real.
Dawn hums in broken echoes,
light bending through missing shapes,
as if the sky itself forgot
what it was meant to be.
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Fragments of Us
A flicker, a hush—
not the wind, but the space it forgets.
Not the light, but the way it bends
around the shape of missing things.
You, a hand I never held,
but still, my palm remembers.
A thread unraveling backward,
sewn into the breath of yesterday.
I, the color of echoes,
a ripple in the river of time.
Not the water, but the shimmer,
not the sound, but the hush between.
We exist in the almost,
a constellation never drawn,
a melody before the note,
a love that is and never was.
©️anie 3 replies
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Unchained Refrain
Fingers dissolve into midnight’s marrow,
threading echoes through liquid sky—
green veins hum, pulsing,
a tether, a fracture, a silent refrain.
Barrels curl like sleeping ghosts,
spilled time pooling in neon hush,
the earth drinks deep,
metallic lullabies humming below.
Moonlight bends, melts,
a coin flipping through eternity,
caught between grasp and surrender,
unfurling, unraveling, unknown.
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