Somewhere Between Midnight and Three, They Call to Me
Somewhere between midnight and three, while the rest of the world sleeps peacefully beside the living, I sit awake with the forgotten— letting the dead speak through me one poem at a time. Click the 🔗 to read on.https://kandiblaze.wordpress.com/2026/05/07/somewhere-between-midnight-and-three-they-call-to-me/
Almost Hell: The Slow Cruelty of Remaining
We are prisoners of our own minds— architects of cells that breathe with us, brick by trembling brick, sealed from the inside… and listening. Read more 🔗https://kandiblaze.wordpress.com/2026/05/03/almost-hell-the-slow-cruelty-of-remaining/
There are widening RPG book gaps at my FLGS store. No discussion of restocking currently either.
I feel the end is night.
Where Pain Learns to Breathe: And Still, I Do
I cherish what is good— those fragile, golden fragments of ease— but I dread what is required: the procedures, the waiting, the quiet endurance of pain. Still, it humbles me. It teaches me to love as if each day is a final draft, as if time itself is borrowed…https://kandiblaze.wordpress.com/2026/04/29/where-pain-learns-to-breathe-and-still-i-do/
Tears
Profound tears stream softly down my face
Pain arrives, overwhelming my soul
When will this end
–
Night settles heavy on my trembling breath
Echoes of sorrow linger in me
Hope feels far away
–
Memories rise like shadows on the wall
Each one reminding me what I’ve lost
Still I carry on
–
Morning light tries gently to break through
Warmth brushing lightly against my grief
I am not yet whole
#poem #Sadness #tears
high-profile:
#indignation & #rage -> encounter of #walls -> #sadness -> #recovery -> #resistance & #perseverance
on repeat
with #love
Whether it's #neurodivergence, or the fight for #justice*, or both, keep it up, that #strength.
__________
* justice: respect for all beings; destruction of hierarchies to guarantee everyone's needs
Quote of the day, 26 April: St. John of the Cross
1. A lone young shepherd lived in pain
withdrawn from pleasure and contentment,
his thoughts fixed on a shepherd-girl
his heart an open wound with love.
2. He weeps, but not from the wound of love,
there is no pain in such affliction,
even though the heart is pierced;
he weeps in knowing he’s been forgotten.
3. That one thought: his shining one
has forgotten him, is such great pain
that he bows to brutal handling in a foreign land,
his heart an open wound with love.
4. The shepherd says: I pity the one
who draws herself back from my love,
and does not seek the joy of my presence,
though my heart is an open wound with love for her.
5. After a long time, he climbed a tree,
and spread his shining arms,
and hung by them, and died,
his heart an open wound with love.
Saint John of the Cross
Poem 7, Stanzas applied spiritually to Christ and the soul
John of the Cross, St 1991, The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, rev. edn, Kavanaugh, K & Rodriguez, O (trans.), ICS Publications, Washington DC.
Featured image: The Good Shepherd is an oil on canvas painting by American artist Henry Ossawa Tanner, dated 1902. This image comes from the Zimmerli Art Museum at Rutgers University. Image credit: Zimmerli Art Museum / Google Art Project (Public domain).
#goodShepherd #poetry #sadness #StJohnOfTheCross #woundOfLove
After we finished our walk and rested, I decided to treat Lil Miss 16 YO terrier to a cheeseburger from McDonalds.
But first (!) I made sure to remove the onions. I opened the bun and, get your magnifying glass, these were the onions.
Pathetic.
They don't even look like freshly rehydrated onions I remember from 1980. Not fit for humans.
Writings of a Feral Goddess & Free Spirit
Arctax 🫑
patros15
Charnock
M.A.D. Works
La Keka
Carmelite Quotes
Forest Fern