Poetry that takes you on a journey of love, passion, life, and wisdom. The purpose of poetry is to engage ones emotions with the heart and mind. The root of our total being in thinking and doing and living. It expresses the truth that affects each human in every aspect of their lives.
The
heart cries aloud,
But
tears are not allowed.
A
man’s soul is all he’s got,
Where
sadness lingers and plays a lot.
There
always seems a woman to blame—
A
nameless, endless, weary game.
Love
and passion form a paradox,
Where
duty and emotion lock.
Sometimes
it’s so hard to understand
The
simple perils of being a man!
Separated
by making a living,
Yet
work is a man’s way of giving.
Time
just fades through all the years,
Lost
in silence and whispers of tears.
Thomas
Theophilus© October 7, 2026
October
comes rushing in,
And
voices shout the world will end!
But
only God knows what's in store;
Fools
speak of things they know no more.
The
Bible tells us not to fear,
For
God the Lord is always near.
There
is no point for us to worry—
Live
every day; don't be in a hurry.
Let
time take care of everything,
Ignore
the noise that foolishness brings.
Listen
to the little voice inside,
And
guard your heart against your pride.
Time
is a gift we share the same—
Love
one another; that’s all we can claim!
Thomas
Theophilus © October 6, 2026
In
the quietness, the wind howls,
In
the darkness, the cat prowls.
Sadness
fills the weary heart,
And
the soul feels torn apart.
Tears
swell, yet the eyes stay dry,
Heartaches
come without a why.
Emotions
tangled, undefined,
Where
peace and rest are hard to find.
We
search for the silent stars above,
Knowing
all we need is love.
We
long to run, but nowhere to hide,
With
no true friend to stand beside.
When
does the heart get to vent?
When
does this sadness finally repent?
Thomas
Theophilus© October 5, 2026
A
trace of acumen drifts across the night,
Like
a keen sense of quietness in our breath.
In
stillness, where the mind gives up its fight,
The
deepest silence speaks of life and death.
We
gather knowledge – facts and noted themes,
The
schema was built to organize the brain,
The
ego navigating conscious dreams,
The
neuroplastic shaping of our pain.
Yet
facts alone are only steps we pave,
While
wisdom is the light by which we walk.
Metacognition
watches from the cave,
Beyond
the noise of all our clever talk.
And
love – that sweet attachment of the soul,
The
heart’s self-actualizing highest state,
Restores
the fractured spirit into whole,
A
soft alignment where we integrate.
Yet
every breath, each neural spark, each grace,
The
mind’s vast depth, the love we carry through,
Are
held within a grander, sacred space:
But
glory, that belongs to God, not me or you!
Thomas
Theophilus© October 4, 2026
From
the sea of cool blue gray she rises,
In a quiet space where grace resides,
A canvas capturing time’s surprises
Where a gentle knowing spirit hides.
Her
elegant features etched in paint,
Total class in every brush flow,
A
portrait far from faint,
A face that all who look must know.
And
then those green eyes, soft and deep,
Where
the warmth of heart begins to glow,
A silent promise she will keep
More than any mirror will show!
This
beauty, captured and distilled,
A
moment painted, still and refined,
Is elegance with purpose fulfilled,
Leaving
an impression, clear and kind.
Thomas Theophilus© October 2, 2026
The
fog rises off the mirror of the lagoon,
a
slow breath drawn across quiet waters.
The
darkness moves without sound,
stretching
its shadows from shore to shore.
In
the silence, the heart keeps its own counsel,
bound
to what it has always needed,
untouched
by what remains hidden,
blinded
to what waits within the deep.
We
look out into the gray hush,
reaching
for shapes that refuse to form,
learning
to stand at the water’s edge
and
trust the unwritten path ahead.
Yet
the darkness cares less about what lies within,
and, beneath the stillness, the spirit cries out!
Thomas
Theophilus© October 2, 2026
The
room is full, yet silent as a grave,
A
dozen faces bathed in cool, blue light.
No
spoken words to catch, no hands to wave,
Just
quiet thumbs that scroll into the night.
We
traded glances for a glass display,
And
traded voices for a typed line—
Forgetting
how a simple word can weigh,
Or
how an eye can meet with yours, and shine.
Remember
when a conversation breathed?
When
laughter had a rhythm, warm and loud?
Before
our presence was so softly sheathed,
And
solitude grew crowded in a crowd!
They
call it connection, fast and clear,
Yet
no one speaks, and no one stays to hear.
Thomas Theophilus© September 28, 2026
