#deep reflection poem

[niggadiffusion]

"Reflections in the Quiet"

In the hush between moments, I linger,

where shadows stretch long and truth feels thicker.

The mirror don’t lie, but the mind? It twists,

bending light through cracks where memory drifts.

I catch glimpses of a younger me,

eyes burning with dreams too wild to see.

Fists clenched against time, chasing the sun,

yet running from storms I couldn’t outrun.

What’s the weight of a soul when stripped to the bone?

When the noise dies down and you’re truly alone.

No applause, no likes, no eyes to impress—

just the echo of choices I tried to suppress.

I’ve been both villain and the one who forgives,

a ghost in my past and the fire that lives.

I’ve loved with abandon and shattered my heart,

then stitched it with words, a makeshift art.

Growth ain’t linear; it's jagged and raw,

cutting through ego, exposing the flaw.

But in that bleeding, there’s something divine,

the beauty of breaking and learning to climb.

So I breathe in this stillness, let judgment dissolve,

a puzzle in pieces, still learning to evolve.

And if tomorrow I stumble, that’s part of the song—

the rhythm of falling, then moving along.

[sl8tersstuff]

I live my life in a constant state of grief of what I did, what I didn’t do, and what I can never do.

[vileidol]

“Walk a gal home?”

rohan projecthadea of @nyehilismwriting’s Project Hadea fame you will always be famous to me

[garden-of-thoughts-fruit-of-lips]

Embrace the truth, a place of radiant light, casting out the darkness of lies, just as the sun banishes the night.

[phoenixmoon333]

If your soul felt joy through my writing… just imagine what it might feel when reading my full book. Let me tell you now: it’s intense, deep, and profoundly sensitive. It was written by a tired soul — but one who chose to turn pain into awakening. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever read. No promises. Only truth. If your heart felt the call… my book is waiting for you in the link pinned to my profile. Make yourself at home. Stay with God. And may He bless you deeply, for everything. I love you — soul to soul, my beautiful soul.

— Phoenix Moon 333

[blossominthewoods]

We grow to know that we don't know. And that is all we truly need to know.

[pursuingtheway]

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, “I find no pleasure in them”— before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars grow dark, and the clouds return after the rain; ...

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, “I find no pleasure in them”— before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars grow dark, and the clouds return after the rain; when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men stoop, when the grinders cease because they are few, and those looking through the windows grow dim; when the doors to the street are closed and the sound of grinding fades; when people rise up at the sound of birds, but all their songs grow faint; when people are afraid of heights and of dangers in the streets; when the almond tree blossoms and the grasshopper drags itself along and desire no longer is stirred. Then people go to their eternal home and mourners go about the streets. Remember him— before the silver cord is severed, and the golden bowl is broken; before the pitcher is shattered at the spring, and the wheel broken at the well, and the dust returns to the ground it came from, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.

Ecc 12 🌌

[withintheveil]

- Here is a poem for anyone going through illness, hardship, or silent pain.

Whispers of the Angel

I have heard death's whispers many times. It calls me like an old friend— a friend I’d rather stay away from, but a friend nonetheless.

He does not knock, nor does he wait for permission. He walks like shadow beside me, scary—but dutiful. An angel, bound not by malice, but by obedience to my Lord.

He does not speak. He simply stands when my soul trembles in sujood, when the wind stills at night, when my heart aches for things it cannot name.

He has seen the faces of kings and children, the lovers of dunya, and the lovers of Allah.

To the heedless, he comes like lightning— To the prepared, like a quiet pull toward home.

Sometimes I wonder if he’s near, when I can’t sleep. When my mother’s voice trembles in du’aa. When I feel too heavy for this earth, and too sinful for the sky.

But I know… He only moves when my Lord commands. He has no power of his own. He is not cruel. Just certain.

So I wait, not with eagerness, but with submission. Not with longing, but with hope.

That when he comes, he will not find me empty. He will not find me far.

Let him find me with Qur’an on my lips, and Allah in my heart. Let him take me, if I am ready.

And if I am not… then let me live only to become so.

-Ruhaya 🤍

[boushwrites]

Modern luxury is the ability to think clearly, sleep deeply, move slowly, and live quietly in a world that constantly disrupts all four. I’ve come to realize that peace isn’t something you just find it’s something you build, piece by piece. And often, it requires unlearning many habits and thoughts, breaking old patterns, and facing the discomfort.

[vastingedachten]

[thelastfloor]

[poeticrambler]

Something beautiful in the way you smile

Something angelic in the way you talk

Something gorgeous in the things you make

Something graceful in the way you walk 

Something beautiful in the way the sun shines

Something angelic in the way the stars sing 

Something gorgeous in the way the moss grows

Something precious in every single thing 

Beauty and grace can be found in your face

In the way that you cry, sneeze, giggle, and grin

Until it is lost, you never can know 

The value and depth of the beauty within

Insist all you will, and fight as you may 

But your eyes see distortions of what is untrue 

You can not see the beauty that lies deep in your being 

But others can and will see and feel it in you 

Your heart a warm fire, your mind a fine gem

Your dignity and elegance is clear for all to see

You may never recognize this truth for yourself 

But you will always be more than beautiful to me. 

[jays-inkmadeoftears]

"You owe me your whole life."

I know that you wish I was never born.

Feelings clearly shown by how You con-verse

-says Me, the useless, helpless, aimless fawn.

My birth, a forced burden, your innate curse.

Love's absence pains me further, even more.

This pattern shall never know end I fear.

A connection once, now it hath no core.

Distance birthed from which I blankly peer.

Had no say in responsibility,

To mother me due to our joint neglect.

A hard task that calls upon your love, such pity,

Never an embrace, thus I'm your reject.

Our Blood binds us to the same thorned vine.

Yet you dull me so, why is that sister?

Perhaps you think all is fine. See this sign:

Sibling, I have never spoke 'I miss her.'

A poem made by me.

[provinzpoet]

Last Times

Your parents still remember The first steps that you walked.

They memorized the time and day, And first word that you talked.

And your first kiss, if I may ask, Do you recall it, still?

On your first date, if you think back Which one picked up the bill?

The thing with our ‘First Times’: We always recognize, “Hey this is new for me to do,” And here the essence lies.

Our ‘Last Times’ in stark contrast, We rarely know ahead.

Like when I used to kiss you last, When we last shared a bed.

Appreciate the time you have, And people in your life.

Because you never know just when A ‘Last Time’ will arrive.

[phoenixmoon333]

My book wasn’t made to be read. It was made to be felt. And if you still feel too much… maybe this book has been calling your soul for a long time.

— Phoenix Moon 333

My book wasn’t made to be read. It was made to be felt. If you still feel too deeply… maybe it’s been calling your soul for a long time — and you were just waiting for this sign to finally admit it.

Because this book isn’t just words… it’s a mirror, a lifeline, a homecoming.

And if the world made you doubt your own sensitivity… then you need to read each page as someone finding their way back home.

The link is pinned in my profile. Don’t delay what your soul has already recognized.

[stitchedmelancholy]

Each tomorrow comes with dread, but there’s comfort in knowing the curtain call could be mine to command.