Featured Poetry - August, 2025

BATTLES

By Brad Copp

Through the darkness, through the pain

The voices driving me insane

Praying for the morning light 

Only to be trapped by horrors of the night

Closing my eyes unable to sleep

Falling to my knees as I weep

Raising my head to the one above

O' Lord I am broken, where is your love

My cup is empty, my body is weak

Words turn to dust when I try to speak

This world has left me for dead

Then I remember the cross, the blood you shed

I cannot fight my battles alone

You defeat my enemies from your throne

My troubles I give to you

Please Lord create something new

Listen to the lyrics to BATTLES on AI generated music HERE.

LIFE IS WORTH LIVING

By Lauren Elizabeth Ehret

Stay to see the raindrops fall

And rub across the windows.

Stay to see a rainbow shine,

For every one is new.

Stay to hear the bluebirds sing,

A cat screech or a dog howl.

Stay to see a new movie, show,

Or video play for you.

Stay to taste the bittersweet swirls

Of caramel, coffee, or cake.

Stay to feel the soft, plush fuzz

Of fluffy, fresh-made pillows.

Stay to see your bruises heal,

See what the body can do.

Stay to see a new phone come out,

An ipad, car, or some other thing.

Stay because you thought you couldn’t,

Shouldn’t, or don’t deserve it.

Stay to hear your favorite songs

And discover new ones all night long.

Stay to smell the scent of cookies,

Of onion rings or fresh mowed grass.

Stay to finally beat that game,

Of Halo, chess, or monopoly.

Stay because you spite your abuser

Who thought you were too weak.

Stay to try new candy flavors,

You deserve this treat.

Stay because you dare yourself,

Make it a game if you have to.

Stay because you love yourself,

Or that one day you will.

Stay to hear cicadas scream

Or children laugh and giggle.

Stay because I want you to,

And one day you will too.

Stay because your life matters,

You matter, you matter, you matter!

Stay because you will get better.

Life is so worth living.

A suicide survivor

ABOUT LAUREN: Lauren works to destigmatize mental illness, disability, and trauma she has lived through and studied through writing and art. She is a senior undergraduate student in Georgia, USA, studying Psychology with goals to become a certified trauma therapist. Her biggest aim is to help others know that “it’s okay to not be okay” and “you are never alone.” Her writings and art are being compiled in an upcoming book, “Mind of Me.”

FB: @Lauren Ehret Art

IG: @lauren_ehret_art

Substack: @laurenelizabethehret 



ECHO CHAMBER

By Donna Wester

A ghost in the house, I can't leave my own skin.

A stranger's reflection of who I have been.

The smallest of breezes can tear me apart.

Each word is a knife that pierces my heart.

The fear of a void that opens so wide,

I build up a wall and then run back inside.

But inside is a prison, a maze with no key,

A silent scream waiting to be set free.

My love is an ocean, then suddenly dry.

I push you away and then question you why.

A beautiful flower with thorns all around,

I seek a connection, but can't find the ground.

I want to be seen, to be held, to be known,

But fear that the truth will leave me alone.

A hurricane soul in a whisper of a frame,

Lost in the echo of my own name.



WITH INTENT

By Skye

Nothing I do is without intent. Nothing I say is without intent. Everything I post, speak, live— is with intent.

The intent to make things better, not worse. To turn my downfalls and obstacles into work. I’ve taken the blame, the filth, the dirt— carried it all with a smile, or maybe a smirk.

I distanced myself to breathe lighter air, grew up knowing I was never welcome there. Cast aside, shunned by those who share my name. Even now, I will never see them the same.

I learned to be alone— bad blood, bad apple. Talked down on, talked down to. They saw my smiles… but did they see my frowns too?

Everything I do is with intent: to make it easier for you, and them. I keep secrets so you don’t have to. I play along, even when I don’t know how to.

I step back, let them do what they do— while I was falling apart, and they never had a clue.

Why would I be a burden to them… or you? Why would I cry, if nothing I say is ever true? I’ve dreaded this life long before now. I can’t keep fighting— I don’t know how.

They never cared. So why pretend now?

Everything I do is with intent. Always have— now, and back then. Everything I do is with intent. You’ll appreciate it… when no one sees me again.

ABOUT THE POEM:   "With Intent explores personal struggle, resilience, and the invisible burdens we carry. It reflects on the experience of isolation, emotional labor, and the ways we navigate life with purpose, even when unrecognized."



COPERNICAN THEORY

By Shruthi Senthilkumar

Asymmetry governs me.

I feel it pulsating within

the entities that contain

and close in on my psyche.

I say terrible things sometimes 

and they evoke nothing

but the terror in my dreams—

where I run into this familiar wall,

the plaster peels, over and over,

some nightly magic montage.

Moonscapes on my skin,

trace the tune in my screams

I find some balance in my addiction.

It’s visceral, the world from the edge.

I falter and I hold my ground

my mind’s eye, a portal

but here, in this shade of light

all I see is a scar on my face

that cuts open and bleeds

every time I look in the mirror.

It’s more of a sign than anything 

I ever feel inside my sanctuary 

and I always let it consume me.

ABOUT THE POEM: "I got to reading about the Copernican model of the universe, which proposed that the Earth revolved around the sun, rather than the other way around. I’ve always wanted to create something that reflects the perspective I instinctively place myself in, and this theory served as a reminder — a reminder that the darkness and the twenty little voices in my head can’t control how I stand in the world. Not at the centre, but in quiet contemplation at the edge."

ABOUT SHRUTHI: Shruthi is a writer and a firm believer in the higher power of creativity. She finds nothing more thrilling than sharing the unique intricacies of human consciousness—a passion she's been fortunate to explore through her debut poetry book and her writing blog.

WHY? (A Prose Poem)

By Chris McClelland

Why do I feel this way, the scintillate sparks before my eyes, the miasma of fuzz that addles my brain? I need no drugs, no alcohol, nothing to dull or expand my senses. All is suspended. My mind quickens and slows and still I am suspended in a warm bath of love of family and friends.  I am lucky. I have the luck of the Irish, so that I can always count on it when dispirited. But today my spirit is fine, I love myself, but in a detached Buddha-like way, and I have at this moment the all-consuming brotherly love for all humans, Jesus-like.  I wish for fried fish on Fridays, but I have left off the Catholic ways, choosing instead a path that speaks more truly to me. I cast my lot with the Saints in the mountains of Utah.

I went off to the Air Force Base in the summer during college, for officer training. My flight leader was Golden. Lieutenant Golden. I started having problems sleeping. It got worse and worse. Why couldn’t I sleep? Why the racing thoughts? It’s been a long journey since that time, and I would hear the thop of the helicopter rotors as the craft flew me away from Eglin AFB. What was wrong with me? I slept nearly the whole month of August, 1985. A coma, the doctors called it. I saw Jesus in a desert. Was it really Jesus? He looked like a younger version of my dad. He told me it was not time to cross the stream yet.

I would pass out studying in the “stacks” of the UF library, wake up to the helicopter rotors and the soundtrack of The Wall. And amazingly, I kept coming back, trying to finish school, again and again. And I did finish school. Eventually. Then, a graduate degree. What drove me? It seemed story was the only thing that still made sense to me. Making order from chaos.

Many times over the years I went over the brink into that profound abyss. That abyss, the hospitals, wards filled with madness, gibbering insanity and still just to function during the passes from the mental ward. Please, dear editor, take this prose poetry and make sense of suffering. Make my pain into meaning. Help me to create the story that will complete the puzzle.

More than this. There is nothing, more than this. Just a healing balm and a meditative silence as the keys clack on the computer.  Will any of these convoluted contortions of conscience, these hours on the flight simulator, ever bring back that ever-elusive dream of 1985?



UNTITLED

By Anonymous

Anxiety's grip, a cold and creeping vine,

It wraps around the heart, a tangled sign.

It steals the breath, a whisper in the ear,

A constant hum of "what if" and of fear.

The mind, a cage of thoughts that twist and turn,

A lesson in a pain you didn't learn.

The world outside, a vibrant, blurry haze,

You're trapped within a labyrinthine maze.

Depression's weight, a shroud of heavy gray,

It steals the light and turns the sun away.

The simplest tasks, a mountain to be climbed,

The joy of life, a feeling left behind.

A hollow ache, an emptiness inside,

No place to run, no corner left to hide.

The mirror shows a stranger, pale and thin,

A silent war you battle from within.

The world looks on, they see a smiling face,

They do not know the darkness you embrace.

They offer words like "snap out of it," or "try,"

But cannot see the tear behind the eye.

They cannot hear the voices in your head,

The crippling doubt, the words of fear and dread.

For mental wounds, they leave no outer scar,

But still they hurt, no matter who you are.

Yet in this fight, a flicker can appear,

A gentle hand to wash away the fear.

A single thought of hope, a tiny spark,

A promise whispered to you in the dark.

To reach for help, a strength you didn't know,

To plant a seed and watch a new life grow.

For healing comes, a fragile, tender thing,

And from the wreckage, new and better songs will sing.



EXCAVATING THE WOUND

By Anju Kapoor

What are feelings, then?

A gamut of stirring emotions— 

sometimes impulsive, compulsive tides, 

sometimes a breath in silent reverie, alone. 

When a wound throbs without cease, or time

I scavenge for ointment to stifle the bleeding heart

And suture any small incisions on an open wound.

I press my palms to my chest, 

search for the pulse beneath the scars— 

a whisper, not a scream

This cacophony terrifying me.

I want to reclaim what was lost, 

to rinse the past’s stain, 

to sever—like a surgeon’s knife— 

the guilt that haunts my veins. 

I want the solace of unclenched fists, 

the freedom of a sky unchained, unbound 

I want to find myself 

in the wreckage of old bruises, 

to remind myself-

I will not sulk in the dark.

I will smile at the cracked mirror. 

I will reconnect the severed threads

and never again - let emptiness 

mummify me,

in this ark of forgotten moments.

ABOUT ANJU: Anju is an avid writer, visual artist and bilingual poet based in Bahrain. Pen and paper are her wings and rhymes her lifeline.

FB: @Anju Kapoor

Instagram: @Anju 13

I BURN FOR YOU

By Madisen 

“My tender heart’s a steamy fire,

Rare as ocean-blue sapphire.

I try to grasp your hand of mist,

Yet in the haze it starts to drift.

Your portrait defies mortality,

Hanging forever in my mind’s gallery.

Each wrinkle a story left untold,

With a heart crafted in silver and gold.

The cigarette kissed your lips before I could;

Now smoke tastes like it never should.

Tempting me like your breath alone,

Burning soft like your cologne.

Your shadow tiptoes in the twilight;

Illusions dance, but the truth ignites.

Are you really flesh and bone,

Or just a ghost I long to hold?

I followed the spotlight of your star;

I searched for you wide and far.

Your spirit blew like ash away,

Leaving only a faint trace of gray.

I wonder, do I haunt your head?

But it’s your name I breathe instead.

Are you the dream that left me burned,

Or just the smoke I crave to return?”

ABOUT THE POEM: "I have been writing more uplifting poetry to challenge the darker thoughts I have been having. It has been such a challenge but I wanted to share ,so others can see there is always a little glimmer of light even if it’s very tiny …"

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