THE VOICES WE LEAVE BEHIND

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

SWALLOWS OF POISON

 

In the quiet room where the ego sits,

Pride counts the cuts and collects the splinters,

Feeding the hearth with frozen bits

Of a summer burned into endless winters.

We build high forts out of fragile clay,

Call it dignity, call it standing tall,

Trading the warmth of a clear today

For the cold relief of a stone – lined wall.

For trust is a glass that we hold too loose,

And common sense is a quiet friend

Left outside while we choose the noose

Of the crazy games that we won’t unbend.

A man will trade a garden whole

Just to prove he was right about the fence,

Carving a trench through his own small soul

In a grand display of no common sense.

He swallows the poison, expects the foe

To fall from the bitterness in his throat,

Wears his unforgiveness like a heavy coat

In the middle of July, refusing to let go!

The ego whispers, "Remember the slight,"

While wisdom sighs at the empty cost:

To win every stupid, burning fight,

And realize later how much was lost.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 26, 2026

SCRAPS OF MY SOUL

 

Dedicated to all who feel unseen by a world in a hurry,

yet remain cherished in the quiet presence of God.

 

“Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not

when my strength faileth.” — Psalm 71:9

 

They set me on the curb at dusk,

a chipped frame, a rusted key,

Deciding rust is all I am,

forgetting I was once the tree.

Out of sight and out of mind,

The busy street rolls quickly by.

To call me useless suits them well –

a folded page, a breathless reply.

No factory needs my hands today,

No ledger counts the hours I give.

They measure worth in what is made,

and overlook the way I live.

Yet loneliness is not the end,

though silence sits beside my chair.

I sit beneath a large clock

and breathe the quiet, waiting air.

Let world-bound eyes see empty space,

a piece of trash left in the cold;

But I am not trash to Him who knows

how pure gold looks when it grows old.

No longer driven, no longer rushed,

Now I rest my spirit in His grace.

Unproductive to the street,

but cherished in a higher place.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 25, 2026

PETRICHOR

 

The Loudest Kind of Quiet

Rain in an Empty vessel

The Scent of Standing Alone

Alone in the Open

Memories & Truth

What Rain Washes Up

Honeysuckle and Hollows

Where the Storm Left Me

Noticeably Absent

The Air After You Left

Only the Dirt Listens

A Solitary Downpour

The Scent of Missing You

Love in the Downpour

Honeysuckle and Soft Goodbyes

What We Kept in the Wet Dirt

The Half Life of Loving You

Rain-Soaked Longing

Where Love Stormed Through

The Rain Can't Wash Away Ache

Drenched in You . . .

The Distance Between Drops

After my Heart Breaks

I am Still Wet with You!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 24, 2026

THE GUARD IS CHANGING

 

A shift in the wind, a tear in the veil,

The heavy-handed kings grow frail.

The gold they hoarded, thick with rust,

Is turning back to barren dust.

For too long, shadows ruled the throne,

And claimed the earth as theirs alone.

They built their towers high and steep,

While promising the tired sleep.

But justice has a quiet tread,

A steady spark where hope was dead.

The keys are falling from their hands,

A quiet storm across the lands.

The guard is changing in the light—

The reign is taken from the night.

The crown stripped bare of greed and lies,

Now placed beneath untainted skies.

What once was stolen is returned,

From ash and fire, lessons learned.

The meek inherited what was lost,

No longer paying others' cost.

The righteous step into space,

With open hands and grounded grace.

The night yields slowly, but yield it must:

Kingdoms will soon lie in forgotten dust.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 23, 2026

ON YOUR BEHALF

 

I climbed the mountain

I sailed the sea,

But was it all about me?

I swam the river

I shot the arrows quiver,

But to love it didn’t deliver!

I walked a silent path

I am pleased on your behalf,

But nothing will last!

I once broke your heart

I almost fell apart,

But forgiveness must start!

I wonder where this is going,

And that’s quite annoying!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 22, 2026

A DIGITAL BLEED

 

Numbers click like an endless clock,

Flashing lights on neon signs lock –

We trade our hours just to turn the key,

Roads built with sweat, but far from free!

The meter jumps – a digital bleed,

Filling a gas tank that’s built on greed!

We spend our lives to turn the wheel,

Pay at the pump to cross the hill!

Hundreds of bucks to drive a mile,

To work a job for a little while . . .

No real choices – pay what’s on the sign

We pull our hair – we lose our mind!

Corporate greed with endless earnings,

But what are our children learning?

No trains to catch, no bus to wait –

Endless miles to the next toll gate!

Our bank account numbers in decline

The digital meters leap and climb –

So, pull the trigger, lock the steel,

Pay the price to turn the wheel –

We swap our sweat to turn the key,

Only in America, where we are free!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 21, 2026