Dumping My Tangled Thoughts in this Thread
They know where your roots twist,
how your leaves tremble in the wind.
Empathy isn’t kindness here,
it’s a hand that pulls the earth
from beneath your feet.
They don’t scream,
just whisper with the weight of knowing,
and you feel the ground shift
where you thought it was solid.
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They listen to every word,
each pause between sentences,
as if your silence
holds secrets you never meant to share.
They catch the rhythm of your heartbeat
like a song they’ve learned to play,
watching for the moments
when it stutters,
when it falters.
They pause and play
For their delight.
Every breath,
every sigh—
it’s all cataloged
and returned to you
like echoes you can’t outrun.
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Monsters roam in the daylight,
teeth bared, eyes alight.
I’m exhausted, tired and weak,
a crack, a slip, they seek.
They feast on my dread so deep—
I just want to sleep.
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Tangled thoughts that spin and twist,
a web of ideas, too fast to list.
The mind races, but there's still peace
in the mess that refuses to cease.
A voice desperately whispers:
It isn’t all that bad.
The roof over my head, sturdy and sure,
a shield from the storm, the night so pure. It isn’t all that bad.
The soft bed beneath me, a place to rest,
a sanctuary where my mind can find peace. It isn’t all that bad.
Health in my bones, breath in my chest,
a body that moves, a gift, at its best. It isn’t all that bad.
Freedom to speak, to choose, to roam,
a world of possibilities to explore. It isn’t all that bad.
The coffee’s hot and dark and strong,
it smells divine. It isn’t all that bad.
A dog barks somewhere at nothing again,
a strange sort of company. It isn’t all that bad.
There’s a stain on my favorite shirt,
but it reminds me of laughter and wine. It isn’t all that bad.
The air is cold and bites at my skin,
but it wakes me up like a slap of life. It isn’t all that bad.
A mismatched sock hugs my left foot,
a quiet rebellion against order. It isn’t all that bad.
The rain whispers softly through the speakers,
a gentle white noise filling the room. It isn’t all that bad.
WiFi hums in the background,
connecting me to thoughts, to words, to you. It isn’t all that bad.
The 7 Cups website is open,
a space for words and feelings to unfold. It isn’t all that bad.
I write this poem, imperfectly,
but it’s mine, and that’s enough. It isn’t all that bad.
The small moments add up like beads on a thread,
simple, flawed, but here. It isn’t all that bad.
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@azurePond For the Forest Guardian
Focus not on the branches, but the forest.
Carry the blessed flame—let it light the way,
But remember, it also casts a shadow.
Guard it from the wind,
Lest it burn the forest down.
Guard it from the tears,
For if the flame dies into ashes,
The forest will succumb to darkness,
And the guardian will cease to exist.
Focus not on the branches, but the forest.
Keep your eyes on the path,
Toward the heart of the woods.
You own the flame,
For the twigs and stones made one,
So you owe the forest light and warmth.
Focus not on the branches, but the forest.
In the end, the forest knows—
The flame you carry drives out the dark,
And the path you walk becomes your own.
Guard it well, and it will guide you,
For those who carry the flame
Will always find their place in the woods.
@azurePond Why am I vicious
for going after what I want,
for reaching toward predetermined goals
you said they were mine to claim?
Why am I greedy
for wanting to know more,
for seeking the answers,
hungry for the lessons
others don’t seem to care about?
Why am I calculating
when I offer my help,
when I try to solve the problems
that no one else is paying attention to?
Why am I annoying
for caring too much,
for voicing the worries
that others brush off like dust?
Why am I fake
for trying to understand,
for putting myself in your shoes
even when other's don't?
Why am I rude
for drawing the line,
for keeping my boundaries
like a wall that’s somehow
too high to climb?
Why am I ungrateful
for needing room to breathe,
for wanting space
when the world insists
I keep fitting into its shape?
Why do I become
my parents’ reflection
when I’m ambitious,
when I’m charismatic,
when I step into myself
and dare to be more?
Why am I just my name?
Why am I just my face?
Why am I just a 3D-printed,
custom-made doll
stamped with a sigil?
Why do I get stuck in the branches?
Why do I still care about the forest?
Why can’t I just burn it all to the ground,
watch it crumble into ash
and start from nothing?
Why do I keep hoping for more?
Why am I still here with these matches
Why am I not lighting the forest?
@azurePond
Another great! So passionate, I can feel the confused righteous indignation. This feels like more fury than we have seen previously, and yet in the last few lines the why feels like it changes from an aggressive rhetorical question fuelled by the imposed need to justify, to a self doubting why. Who is managing to steal your thunder I wonder?
If these are indeed questions you feel bound to pose to yourself or incredulously need to shout to the sky in frustration, i would like you to know you are the ultimate you. You require no definition, for Azurepond is exactly who they are meant to be, every second, every day, whether changing or staying the same.
@azurePond
I very much liked this piece. Fragility and strength, darkness and light, vulnerability and guardianship. It is beautiful. It certainly deserves a much greater exploration, but my dozy brain is running on fumes at the moment, so for now i shall just relish in it's immersive aura.
@azurePond
This one made me feel so unutterably sad. The first half of the poem stings...i think the lines that caught a lump in my throat the most at he beginning was "Empathy isn’t kindness here, it’s a hand that pulls the earth from beneath your feet." Such expression of futility and vulnerability clutches the chest and squeezes tightly.
The second half is a wonderful exploration of the little thing which make things worth while, and the repeated mantra of "It isn't all that bad" sounds superficially like the slow realisation of all that is to be hopeful and grateful for. Yet beneath this positivity it also sounds like an attempt t convince oneself. A gentle chastisement of the self to accept, be stronger even though it might not be felt. For "It isn't all that bad", is not It is good.
I would like to think I am seeing things which are not there; that it is indeed a triumphant piece of self empowerment. If however there is even a nugget of anything else in there, you have my empathy and well wishes.
@BastionKnight 
@azurePond
Absolutely gorgeous. Wait.....blue waters reflecting the sky, majestic backdrop that stirs imagination.....an Azure Pond!
@BastionKnight Haha, it is a lake though... a super salty one! You can see the Himalayas in the background.
@BastionKnight Thank you Bastion Knight - for your analysis and your well wishes!
My brain is also dozzy so here is an old picture for you - Pangong Tso Lake , Ladakh, India . It is the highest salt water lake in the world! (I am not the photographer of this one but I was there )
Sand takes different shape in each hand,
Shifting, coarse, sharp, then soft and reassuring as land,
It stings, it slips, it finds itself in many places,
A thousand grains, with a thousand different faces.
Pressed together, still it lingers near,
Never whole, Never owned, yet always here,
Like a desert storm, an hourglass, or a beach the sea holds dearA fleeting thing, with a mind of its own, that will always persevere.
@azurePond
Awww, that one was so sweet. I loved it's peaceful reflective nature. Your descriptions are so tactile one can almost feel it run between our own digits. I shall not be able to look at a beach again without bring back to mind your imagery of the eternal, immutable (and yet paradoxically always shifting), and formlessness. It reminds me so much of several philosophical ideas about the notion of Void, the undifferentiated state which yet still contains everything. It is a delightfully nuanced piece.
