Love No Bounds

 

We are all one, so stop the fight,
Let every nation now unite.
No matter your faith, skin, or race,
We must treat all with love and grace.

Be who you are, proud and true,
Kindness is what we owe to you.
Stop judging others for who they may be,
And let us live in harmony.
Life is too short to hate or attack,
Together, we keep each other on track.

Circle of Support (from childhood to growing up)

 When fear comes back like sudden thunder,

I feel a tight knot in my throat.

But I am no longer trapped under

The childhood pain that hurt the most.

I stand up tall and take a breath,

To find my strength and feel okay.

I call for help to clear the mess,

And watch the heavy weight fade away.

Kind care sits quietly by my side,

And warms me like the golden sun.

There is no longer a need to hide,

And all my worries come undone.

Then wisdom speaks so soft and clear,

To show me where my path should go.

She tells me not to live in fear,

Because time helps our healing grow.

I am free and no longer bound,

My painful days are finally through.

With pure love standing all around,

My circle grows whole, safe, and new.

*This poem describes a powerful journey from childhood fear to adult strength and healing. When sudden anxiety strikes, the speaker actively grounds themselves through breathing and calls upon their internal circle of support. By leaning into Care, Wisdom, and Protection, they break free from past pain, find solutions to their problems, and reclaim their personal power.

 

 

A Book... A Human

 We are like a book with stories untold,

Cover adorned but the truth lies below,

Most glance at the surface, the colours, and the arts

Yet few will discover the depths of the heart.

We are like a book with stories to tell,

Cover maybe old, authors are sometimes unknown,

But it's the pages within that hold what is pure.

Some read just the intro because they get bored,

But missing the chapters that explain who we really are.

We are like a book with stories to tell,

Critics may chatter with opinion so loud,

Judging the story, lost in the crowd,

But they know not the struggles, the triumphs, the pain,

The ink of our journeys, the joy and the strain.

We are like a book with stories forget,

For every life lived is a nature so rich,

With twist and with turns, each moment a stitch,

The laughter, the sorrow, the lessons we learn,

Are woven together like pages that turn.

We are like a book and like a reader of the book,

Let us be patient with those who just see,

The cover we wear, the face that we see

For beneath every surface there's more to explore,

A library of souls with tales to adore.

We are like a book and like a keeper of the book,

Let us seek to discover, to read and to know,

The stories of others, the seeds they may sow,

For in understanding we find common ground

In the pages of life, true connection is found,

We read, we tell, we care, and we keep.

 

Reflection

 Whenever I watch old family videos of my elders,

A quiet sadness wells up within me.

It reminds me that I, too, am part of this inevitable cycle,

“That dust returns to dust.” Oh my, I can’t help but write another poem. 

In flickering frames, their laughter echoes,

Faces etched with stories now faded,

Yet in their eyes, a spark of eternal youth.

This reflection prompts me to question how I spend my time,

And whether I am truly living with awareness,

Rather than letting precious moments slip away.

Oh, fleeting sands of the hourglass,

Teach me to cherish the now,

Scheme a drawing of presence into the gold of days,

Before the cycle claims us all.

For in the quiet hum of memory,

We find the pulse of life renewed

Not in the past's embrace, but in the mindful step forward.

The Broken Unseen

 In halls of chalk and whispered dreams,

A colleague stands, steadfast and true,

With heart of gold and endless schemes,

Yet shadows claim the light from view.

She grades the papers late at night,

Prepares the lessons, sharp and keen,

But when the bells for fun take flight,

Her name's erased from every scene.

Picnics, parties, staff retreats,

They swirl in laughter, bright and gay,

While she, the loyal soul, retreats,

To empty desks where echoes play.

No invitations cross her door,

No cheers for work that's done with grace,

Excluded from the joyous roar,

She fades into the vacant space.

Yet in her eyes, a quiet fire,

Of dedication, pure and deep,

A friend to all, though none inquire,

Her loyalty, a promise kept.