In my darkest hours, let me be the mirror that unwaveringly reflects the depths of my soul, and the echo that resounds with the truths I’ve whispered to the night. As the world slumbers, teach me the art of self-acceptance, to find peace in the liminal space where seeds of hope gestate and await the harvest of tomorrow. Grant me the gift of days yet to dawn, where I may weave threads of compassion missed in today’s tapestry, mending the fabric of a heart that faltered in its purpose. Confront me with the visage of my own selfishness, that I … Continue reading My Darkest Hours

I came to nurture your seed that fears the winters—the fears of tomorrow, born from the eyes. Not from unforeseen paths that could lead you astray, but from the failures of past mistakes and the inability to say goodbye. When we realize that the keys to our prison have always been in our pockets, this discovery can carry us into true new beginnings. Do not nourish the fears of repeating your dusty actions. You will learn that you can begin anew or be reborn without ever moving. The truth is a pathless land within each of us, where freedom is … Continue reading Love,

Allow me to be the mirror of my darkest hours and the echo of my truths. Teach me to accept myself in time between the seeds and the harvest. Give me the next days and the tomorrows to share the compassion that I missed today, I terribly failed. Place me before my selfishness for the necessary dialogue with my soul that reacts to its own wounds. Introduce me to the forgiveness that I seek so much, but I have not yet recognized. Give me the courage to cross my fears. Reveal my fears to discover the faith. Allow me the … Continue reading Allow me

In this brief existence, we are but fleeting echoes—foreigners in a cosmic transience. Our souls, like delicate particles of stardust, traverse the boundless void. Imagine: a speck of dust suspended in the sunbeam of eternity. We drift, unanchored, through epochs and eras, our essence woven into the fabric of time. Each heartbeat resonates with the pulse of forgotten constellations. This world, once vibrant and resplendent, now wanes—a fading ember in the cosmic hearth. The symphony of life falters, notes dissolving into silence. We, too, are part of this unraveling—a minuscule fragment in the grand unraveling. Yet, within our insignificance lies … Continue reading Transient Echoes

In the gallery of my life, I once displayed a mosaic, crafted with pieces of my essence. Each fragment was a chapter, a melody, a whisper of my soul. They were the right pieces—genuine, pure, and full of promise. But as fate would have it, they fell into the wrong hands. These hands, like careless curators, mishandled the treasures I offered. They took the laughter and returned to silence, accepted trust, and repaid it with betrayal. The right pieces of me, once vibrant and hopeful, were tarnished by their touch. I watched as my mosaic became a jigsaw, with pieces … Continue reading The Mosaic of the Misguided

I stirred from slumber, a whisper of vitality coursing through my veins—a familiar drive, an echo from a past I had once danced with, then let slip away into the recesses of memory. It was as if the very essence of my being had been rekindled by a flame that had never truly extinguished, merely dimmed beneath the ashes of routine and time. This strong desire was enigmatic, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of my own soul, its origins as elusive as the source of a river that has traveled far from its mountain spring. It was a yearning … Continue reading Each Individual As A Unique And Irreplaceable Masterpiece.

In the heart of verdant whispers, where the great rivers flow,Dwells the soul of the forest, in the children’s eyes, it glows.With feet bare upon the earth, their laughter rings in tune,To the parrot’s vibrant chorus, ‘neath the watchful Amazon moon. Tiny hands, like leaves, reach out, to the sky so vast and blue,Grasping dreams of peace and harmony, in the morning’s dew.They dance with the spirits of the trees, in a silent, sacred ballet,Wearing crowns of orchids wild, in the break of day. Beaded bracelets jingle softly, anklets sing of ancient lore,Each step a story of the land, each … Continue reading To Little Eyes of the Forest

In poetry, when I come to drink from you, I have been deprived of myself. Here I say goodbye to my sorrows. Here, I come to the words to see you. And know that if you cannot endure and through distances to die of love, I will have died together as well, for Love is still surrendered to its inevitable destinies. Mine for the moment is to suffer from immensities for what you have brought me and live on the emptiness that is left when you are gone. The world faded because we got too colorful …💗❤️💚💛💙💜 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Colorful

It matters that someone turns off the lamp, that someone listens to the repeated tale, washes the dishes, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly.It matters that help is acknowledged, credit is given, goodnight is said, and the counter wiped clean.It matters that someone waits at the yellow, tips the waiter, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences.That someone steps up, takes a stand, chooses the smaller portion, teaches a child.That someone tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, guides the lost, reaches for the lonely. It all matters. Don’t search for meaning. Don’t overthink. I am here to tell … Continue reading It all matters …

I am very poetic todayI am very poetic everydayI am dying, slowly walking towards an end declinedSettled as a given despite decliningI am a poem and today’s lines—what are they?They are nothing, seeds on the windSettling who knows whereIn some divine lapOr some entropy ditchWho knows—you know—I knowNone know …🌻 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Poetic