Prose
Prose: Poetry in Motion
Prose is the art of storytelling without the constraints of structured verse, yet it retains the depth, rhythm, and emotional weight of poetry. It moves freely across thought and narrative, blurring the lines between poetry and storytelling, allowing for rich imagery, introspection, and flowing expression.
On this website, prose is explored as a space for deeper reflection—where ideas unfold organically, unbound by line breaks or syllabic restrictions. These pieces may take the form of lyrical essays, fragmented thoughts, or immersive vignettes, each capturing a moment, a memory, or a perspective. While some may be rooted in personal experience, others serve as creative explorations of meaning and voice. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Here, prose invites the reader into a more fluid, meditative experience—one that lingers between narration and poetry, between reality and the imagined.
The Mute Warrior Within
She asks me “do you really want it?” – She didn’t use words, because she never speaks, but she used a look; a slightly raised eyebrow and those piercing eyes; eyes that mean business; eyes that don’t play around, and that have seen things you could never imagine; eyes that are precise and deadly.
This is a question that is very serious. It is a question that is as heavy and important as asking if one should drop an atomic bomb. There will be consequences. There will be impact. There will be death and destruction.
She waits silently for a sign, a nod, a ‘yes’. It would mean she is unleashed. Her fury allowed to escape and wreak havoc on my world, to destroy all the little sand castles of dreams that I had built. Her action like the tidal wave to a small child’s creation.
My eyes downturn, unable to confirm, unable to end the pain and suffering that I am experiencing in my environment, unable to let her rip out all the cancer and toxicity that invades my spirit. I know that her actions will end my pain. Her actions will end all the tears, all the longing, all the wanting and unreciprocated love – it will destroy all the words that were ever said, all the memories that caused my spirit to shriek back in terror, pain, rejection, and agony. And also all the good memories, the love, the tender moments, the connection… She will destroy it all, and in doing so, free me.
And not so long after, I will be open and empty and love will come in to try again…. I will experience another rush of love, another wave of deep affection, another showering of desires and pleasures and reciprocation, adoration, and proposals of forever after…
But I keep my eyes downturn. I am sick of the patterns. I am sick of the cycles. I am sick of the loving and the hating and the loss. I am sick of the blaming and the shame. I am sick of being in this same place over and over again, and watching the person I loved die… or disappear, as I suspect will happen in this case.
A dark thought crosses my mind, of turning it all within. To unleash this destruction on myself instead. A guarantee that I will no longer be here. This too can end all of my pain.
She would do it. She is capable. She is not attached to who or when. She likes the blood, the hearts last beat on her spear. She can easily stick it right into my chest as she has done to all the others I have left behind.
She waits for an answer. In my silence, she turns away, but she gives a knowing glance “I will see you soon”.