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When your gaze found mine #lovepoem #surrealpoem #poetrydaily

When your gaze found mine, the whole world swayed, As if the earth had missed a hidden beat; The sunlight suddenly grew unafraid, Then melted like warm gold around my feet. I tried to look away, but something stayed, A trembling little universe in you; My eyes became two doors I could not close, And every secret seemed to wander through. I felt my cheeks turn roses in the rain, A sudden fire underneath my skin; The stars began to whisper my sweet shame, While little suns kept blooming from within. Your eyes were not just eyes, they were a place, A strange blue room where gravity was gone; I wandered through the silence of your gaze And somehow lost the person I was on. My heartbeat stumbled, then forgot its name, It ran barefoot through corridors of light; I blushed as though the moon had called me beautiful, Then hid my face from heaven's watching sight. The trees leaned closer, jealous of the view, The flowers opened wider just to see; Even the wind became unusually shy, As thoug...
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The Unfinished Chapters #poetryaddict #poem #sadpoetry

They called me mad.

They stood at the edge of my storms,
pointing trembling fingers
toward the thunder in my mind.

"Madness approaches,"
they whispered,
as though it were some distant beast
crawling from the shadows.

But they were wrong.

Madness was never approaching.

It had already built its home
within the hollow rooms of my soul,
hung its coat upon my ribs,
and slept beneath my skin.

I became its closest companion.

Together we wandered through
the chapters of my life,
pages stained with tears,
corners burned by regret,
sentences crossed out by fate's cruel hand.

Some chapters smelled of spring,
of innocence and impossible dreams.

Others reeked of decay,
of promises buried beneath dead leaves
and forgotten graves.

Life never asked permission
before turning the page.

It simply did.

A mother's voice became an echo.
A friend's face became a memory.
A lover's touch became a ghost.

And still the pages turned.

I searched for meaning
between the lines,
only to find silence
scribbled in every margin.

Perhaps that is why
they feared me.

I asked questions
that the world was too frightened to answer.

I stared into darkness
until darkness became familiar.

I danced with my demons
until I could no longer tell
which footsteps were theirs
and which belonged to me.

Yet even now,
with ink-stained hands
and a heart heavy as winter earth,
I remain unfinished.

The final chapter has not been written.

The last page still trembles
in the hands of tomorrow.

There are paragraphs yet to bleed,
sorrows yet to bloom,
and truths still hiding
beneath the dust of unwritten words.

So let them call me mad.

Let them name me
after storms and shadows.

Books are rarely understood
before they are finished.

And I,

I am merely a story
half-written by fate,
half-written by my wounds,

standing between the end
and the beginning,

waiting for the next page
to turn itself.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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