Tag: drypastel

Leave a comment

If I am your child…

beatrizesmer

Please touch me. Persist; find ways to meet my needs. Your touch is the language of love—the silent poetry that bridges the gap between hearts. In your embrace, I discover safety, warmth, and the promise that I am not alone in this vast, uncertain world. Your goodnight hug helps sweeten my dreams. As the day’s shadows lengthen, and the moon tiptoes across the sky, your arms wrap around me like a soft cocoon. In that moment, worries dissolve, and the weight of existence lifts. You whisper, “Rest, my dear,” and I drift into slumber, cradled by your affection. Your daytime … Continue reading If I am your child…

Leave a comment

The Transformative Return of Love

beatrizesmer

In the quiet solace of passing days, love took its leave, a silent thief in the night, departing without a trace. It wandered through the wilderness of the unknown, through the thicket of uncharted hearts, and in its journey, it shed its old skin. When love returned, it was not as it once was. It looked upon me with new eyes, eyes that had seen the dawn of distant horizons and the dusk of forgotten lands. Its hands, once familiar, were now those of a stranger, reshaped by the embrace of novel experiences and tender moments that I had not … Continue reading The Transformative Return of Love

Leave a comment

 The Alchemy of Fear

beatrizesmer

Yes, I have stumbled, faltered, and found myself face down in the dirt. My failures are many, and my fears, like shadows, stretch long in the evening sun. Yet, within the scattered debris of my attempts, there lies a testament to my unwavering resolve. My journey, though marred by sputters and dust, is a mosaic of a soul yearning for transformation, a heart beating with the rhythm of hope for a healthier tomorrow. Fear, that cunning alchemist, turns today’s dread into tomorrow’s drive. It whispers of the embers that smolder within the hearth of my spirit, a silent siren calling … Continue reading  The Alchemy of Fear

Leave a comment

Poetry

beatrizesmer

I stand amidst the whispers of an unknown origin, a genesis shrouded in the cloak of winter or the meandering paths of a river. I am the seeker of voices that are not heard, words that are not spoken, and silences that are not quiet. It is not in the clarity of speech that I am called, but from the cobblestone alleys of dreams, from the intertwining limbs of night’s darkest trees. In the tumult of blazing embers or in the solemnity of my solitary journey, I find myself faceless, a phantom to the world, yet profoundly touched. This touch—it … Continue reading Poetry

Leave a comment

The Arrival of Poetry

beatrizesmer

And it was at that age, an unmarked chapter in the book of life, when poetry arrived. It came unannounced, a silent whisperer seeking me out, a wanderer from realms unknown. Was it birthed from the cold embrace of winter, or did it emerge from the murmuring depths of a river? Its origins were a mystery, cloaked in the enigma of the elements. I cannot recount how or when it found me, for it was neither a voice that called out nor a word inscribed upon the air. It was not the hush of silence that precedes the storm. Rather, … Continue reading The Arrival of Poetry

1 Comment

La Noche Y El Viento

beatrizesmer

En la quietud de la noche, cuando el viento susurra entre las sombras, el eco de mi corazón se funde con la melodía de la naturaleza. He desaprendido el tacto de otro ser, pero el recuerdo de sus caricias perdura en mi piel, como un suave susurro en la brisa. En la profundidad de mi ser, late la esencia ancestral que me conecta con el universo, con el eco de antiguas leyendas que resuenan en mi ser. Soy el viento que acaricia los árboles con la misma suavidad con la que él solía acariciar mi rostro. Soy el lobo que … Continue reading La Noche Y El Viento

1 Comment

The Labyrinth of Language

beatrizesmer

In the labyrinth of language, I find an escape, a strange dialect that I employ to lose myself. There are days when the world’s caffeine is but a drop in the ocean of my fatigue… I pen my thoughts to anyone who would listen. This is the act of externalizing, but where does the internal reside? The internal is a cacophony of silence, a canvas of pre-art, a cosmos brimming with pre-things awaiting their names. The internal is an identity that I have crafted. At times, I write to materialize the ineffable. No matter its nature, it can always be … Continue reading The Labyrinth of Language

Leave a comment

Thirst for the Night Sky

beatrizesmer

Beneath the vast canvas of the twilight sky, one’s soul awakens to a profound longing. It is not the closeness of whispered secrets, nor the meticulous dance of daily routines that we seek. Beyond the confines of our intricate lives, there is a yearning for the boundless—a thirst for the celestial embrace of the cosmos. As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the world in hues of fading gold, we find ourselves craving the grandeur that comes with the night. The stars, scattered like diamond dust across the black velvet of space, beckon to us with their silent songs … Continue reading Thirst for the Night Sky