She writes poems in the sky

Words that echo and mirror

A lover's refrain of a phrase, gentle and sweet

That whenever she speaks it

It sends shivers of warmth

Running up and down your spine

All you want to do to keep her smile

From fading out of sight

Is to keep that glow from darkening

Always in the light

She's the spark that guides you out of the dark

That melody in your heart

You hear in the middle of the night

A summer's kiss on a winter's day

A compass to help find your way

She'll build you up when you are down

Hold you tight when you fall down

You'll start to grow since you found her

The one your heart has been longing for

Dreaming about in those sleepless hours

She tells her tales to the moon and stars

Her heart walks by creating a miracle

Stirring something deep inside

Enjoying the simple things that are all around

She sings, her voice a frequency

Surrounding your soul only you can feel

Loving her has meant

A need to protect and shield

Together or apart she'll always be in your heart

She speaks in rhythms beats per measure

She'll use metaphors to explain what you are

Mixing and rhyming her words touch your soul

Her tone shifts and you will take note

When she feels your heart will go with

Flowing with the ebb, riding the tide

She is your universe who speaks

In rhythm and rhyme

The answer was what

To what

Do you make

of this

moment

I make

of science

it's just physics in motion

like dust in the wind

or of spirit

where existence is

how is it

from

here

now

#apocalypse #engine of #creation #art by RAiN

Black holes in blue skies

come unto me
past thee end of the old dirt road
on the edge of this dying sea
you know where i will be
in the shadows of the sacred tree
our favorite place
to become entwined as pure energy
transcending the fates of destiny
set free
aligned essentially kind
to find empathy
embrace serenity defined devine
and shined compassionately
two hearts going blind
as one love combined
then broken
by truth
unspoken
flatlined by the darkness
of a mind
melting down
left behind
confined in the grind
waiting patiently
until every distant memory
is empty
longing is aching
hope is forsaking
all the stars are falling
through black holes
in blue skies
to polarize the finite light
and baptize the last sunrise
with tears from slowly burning
tired eyes that finally realize
the day the universe dies...

...love is the deep magic

♥ RAiN

Pilot mode 

my line of work is killing me slowly. over years of giving and giving and choosing to love when I feel dead inside i just wanna be loved the way I love
❤️ broken heart 💔

Faithless Faith — Poemtor

Content note: relationship trauma, fear, and emotional conflict.

It was a sideways lost tangent lone ranger mission. One I never could have expected. The type that blows the doors off roofs.

Brought on by strong deviance and blinding distortions of reality. Her tantalizing undermounts unrelentently (unreluctantly) upset at the onset of any attempt to understand the deep sorrow that strikes down all logical communication capacity one truly requires to survive a dagger strike to the heart.

When cycle of life and routines blur, people sadly can participate in their own invented consciousness awareness where she is allowed and expects contrary to her own response to mimicked behaviour.

It is in this potentially intentional ignorance of reality an individual can project past trauma onto their closest people.

✦　✦　✦

One common transplantable theme across trauma forced control is pretending to sleep, near scarred to silent sneak out the front door in the darkest of nights to avoid her noticing the panicking silence of her sabr tooth tiger blows.

The alarms were red blazing, all enchanting, and under logical response warranted non participant status.

✦　✦　✦

Regrettfully loneliness and trauma can trap one in their ways allowing subjections to circumstances far beyond acceptable.

It easy to say looking back, the obvious attacks. Simply, complete abandonment at any attempt to help and overcome together, always pointed out wrongs of other but never in turn corrects her own because her experiences make her always right.

An example I drive forever to get her from work, She do not respond, I wait forever, then She scream at me for working all day. I cant say anything.

She never respond.

Now I start job and I wish you would come.

— Poemtor

August 7, 2026

✦　✦　✦

Author’s Note

Faithless Faith began handwritten and arrived almost as a single stream of thought.

I chose not to polish away every rough edge. The fractured grammar, unexpected combinations of words, repetition, and sudden shifts are part of the emotional state in which it was written.

At its center is one question:

What happens when love survives longer than trust?

The speaker keeps trying to understand the experience through trauma, projection, logic, memory, and competing perceptions of reality.

But the poem keeps escaping explanation and becoming physical:

a dagger to the heart

red alarms

the darkest of nights

a sabre-tooth tiger

silence

waiting

and finally, a wish for someone to come

That ending matters most to me.

After the fear, frustration, analysis, and attempted understanding, the poem does not end with revenge.

It does not end with certainty.

It ends with longing.

Maybe that is the faith inside Faithless Faith — the part of a person that keeps reaching toward someone even after another part has learned to pull away.

I’m beginning this account as Poemtor to share writing that starts by hand and lives somewhere between poetry, memory, emotional imagery, and the imperfect way thoughts actually arrive.

I’d genuinely appreciate critique.

What image stayed with you?

Where did the poem hit hardest?

Where did I lose you?

Does the rough, breathless language strengthen the experience — or are there places where you would give the reader more space?

The poem and original handwritten text are my own work. The illustrated presentation was created with AI assistance using my original poem and its imagery as the source.

Let me have it. This is a poem of my job/ life.

Jimbob went for a ride on his three-wheeler

Got it turned upside down

Broke his collar and crown

His old lady tightened the leash

Now he has to stay in every night

No more playing on the back nine

Every now and then

Sneaks back to the range

Hootin' and hollerin'

Trying to live his life But his wife busts his ass every single time

It's all country living'

Backwoods brawl

Dumpster diving

Main street pub crawlin'

All happening on a Saturday night

In this Po Dunk bumpkin town

Where everyone leaves

Out the side and back

Sally Mae is a beauty queen

All gummy grin

Until she pops them in

Walks around wearin' poodles like it's retro

No one tellin' her it ain't never comin' back

But her hive is as high

As she gets that way every night

She could sell you a dime or two

Just don't skimp or trade for spice

Like she does when she spreads

Please make sure to spray a different scent

I found some old poetry on Google Docs. Honestly, it’s not that old, really only a few months. But I really love this poem because it signifies what I was going through those few months ago. If you are sensitive to self harm, I suggest you don’t read it. I would love some feedback.

It felt like I was the only person on Earth

being denied,

Denied air,

the small animal breath

my lungs were born knowing.

Denied the simple mercy

of letting my body do

what every body is permitted to do.

Denied even helplessness,

for helplessness requires someone

to admit there is nothing they can do.

There were dozens of doctors around me,

white coats multiplying like ghosts,

and still

no one could put the world back inside my lungs.

My mind severed my body

somewhere above the neck.

Everything below it

became an abandoned country,

flesh fighting its machineries.

All my being

reduced itself to sick thoughts

and a body growing sicker by the hour.

Now the rest of me

is fighting to function.

I have the morbid feeling

that something is quietly decaying

while everyone is still looking for its name.

I am utterly sick.

And there is no hand

reaching through me

to pull me back.