poet

The Cost of Keeping Peace

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The lines were drawn in quiet ink,
A map of “yes” and “stay,”
I feared the bridge would surely sink
If I turned the other way.
I held my breath to keep the peace,
A ghost within the room,
Fearing that my own release
Would seal a friendship’s doom.

I thought the cost of being me
Was more than they would pay,
That if I spoke, they’d turn and flee
And leave me in the gray.
But then the weight began to gall,
The “jokes” that left a sting,
The way they made me feel so small
While I gave everything.

So I stood up, a sudden flame,
And watched the masks descend,
I finally spoke my truth, my name,
And waited for the end.
They met my strength with cold disdain,
With anger and with slight,
They saw my joy as their own pain
And walked into the night.

And in the silence left behind,
The truth began to bloom:
The friends I was so scared to find
Were never in that room.
For if a boundary breaks a bond,
The bond was but a thread;
Of people who are truly fond,
There’s nothing left to dread.

If standing up meant losing them,
I lost a heavy chain,
A false and hollow stratagem
That only offered pain.
The ones who leave when you grow tall
Were never yours to keep;
It’s better that the shadows fall
So you can finally leap.

More works by Nancy Ann Creed

MAEVE https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
MATTHEW https://books2read.com/u/bzNZYj
JUSTIN https://books2read.com/u/mBKzLZ
MAURELLE https://books2read.com/u/bzN19D
ANNBELLE https://books2read.com/u/bWqEkx
Carillon https://books2read.com/u/38anZV


The Serendipitous Message

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
man s thumbs typing on a smartphone
Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

The Serendipitous Message

A flicker in the digital sea,
A ripple in the ocean vast,
Announced a message, unanticipated, free,
A bridge to years and moments past.
No expectation, no alarm,
A serendipitous, sudden light,
A warmth against the day’s long harm,
Dispelling shadows of the night.

The sender’s name, a long-lost friend,
Appeared upon the silent screen,
A cherished sight without end,
Recalling what had been.
A powerful, unexpected force,
Across the void of silent years,
Washing away the quiet remorse,
And vanquishing old, silent fears.

A wave of joy, a deep embrace,
Surged through the heart, dissolving time,
As memories rushed, swift in their chase,
Like a rushing, vibrant tide sublime.
Laughter shared, a youthful sound,
Secrets told in hushed reply,
A core of trust that could be found,
A sturdy thread beneath the sky.

Across the miles that held them fast,
The vital connection instantly made,
The digital form, a vessel cast,
Where friendship’s enduring flame was played.
Passionately kindled, burning bright,
Unafraid of intervening years,
A testament to affection’s might,
Dispelling all the rising tears.

The quick exchange of grateful hearts,
A quiet acknowledgement of grace,
The inner vision of eyes that starts,
Smiling across time and space.
This sudden reunion, taking flight,
A potent reminder, clear and true,
Some bonds are not defined by sight,
But by a spirit time can’t undo.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Sponges and the Soul

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
silhouette of man at daytime
Photo by Prasanth Inturi on Pexels.com

Sponges and the Soul

Some people are like sponges.
They soak up whatever is around them,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are with good people,
They absorb your goodness,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are around toxic people,
They become like them,
And then pour it out on others.

Don’t be a sponge.
Know who you are.
Beware of sponges and always be the good person
So the sponges can soak up your goodness.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

A Flower

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
close photography of red and pink rose
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
 
A Flower
 A flower blooms in the soft morning light,
A silent promise of enduring might.
Spreading its delicate petals, a vibrant hue,
Out to the warmth, the life-giving sun, shining anew.

The celestial rhythm, the sun's grand ballet,
It rises with hope, and then fades away.
Each day a fresh chapter, a pristine, clean slate,
A boundless opportunity, sealed by no fate.

Each new dawn brings a chance for profound, lasting change,
To break free from confines, to truly rearrange.
Each passing hour holds a chance for true greatness to bloom,
To conquer the darkness and dispel all the gloom.
Each single day is a new chance to reach for the dream,
To fuel the deep passion, the bright, inner gleam.

The flower drinks deep of the sun's golden shower,
Sustained by the light in this fleeting, sweet hour.
It unfurls its beauty, a joy to behold and to see,
Sharing its splendor with all, wild and free.

Be like the flower, resilient and bold,
Let your spirit unfold, a magnificent story told.
Spread your unique petals, your gifts and your grace,
For the world to witness, in this time and this place.


https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unspoken Question of Worth

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
woman in white shirt wearing eyeglasses
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

The Unspoken Question of Worth

Am I a difficult person to be friends with?
The question echoes in the lonely silence,
A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain.
I dissect each word, each passing glance,
Seeking the flaw so visible to others’ eyes,
Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain.

Am I too awkward, my presence a strain?
Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation?
I rehearse the words, the balance I must find,
To hold the moment, a calculated equation.
But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush,
Leaving the perfect moment behind.

Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum?
A fear of saying too much, of taking up space,
Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud.
This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can’t erase,
A repellent field that pushes people away,
Before a true connection is allowed.

Do I forget to hold my tongue’s sharp edge?
I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free.
I speak without the varnish of social grace,
And the truth, though gently offered, can still be
Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out.
What is it? A flaw I cannot place.

I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark.
My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient.
I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide.
While others form bonds, lasting and resilient,
Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water,
With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.

I am a friend until a better one appears.
I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim,
A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found.
I am never good enough, always on the rim;
The comparison is the moment of my replacement.
I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.

I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread,
Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear.
My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight,
A burden they let go, holding nothing dear.
Sometimes I must be the one to let go first,
A painful, self-preserving, final tear.

It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss
The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside.
But is it real, or the memory idealized?
A performance they gave, while they stood by my side,
Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive.
In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.

I will be there for those who need me to be.
My nature unchanged, I offer care freely,
A reliable constant, though never the primary light.
If you want me to go, tell me honestly.
Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight.
But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.

Cherish the friends who remain by your side.
Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few.
If some want to leave, let them walk away;
Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you.
Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast,
And keep the door open for the few who are true.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tie Is Severed

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
seil
Photo by Mariya on Pexels.com

The Tie Is Severed

I lost a friend today,
A simple, heavy line
That should descend like sorrow’s shroud,
A grief for what was mine.
I waited for the cutting edge,
The sting of sudden pain,
But found instead a strange relief,
No shadow of a chain.

I should be sad, should mourn the end,
The history we knew,
Yet in my chest a lightness wakes,
Defiant, strong, and new.
The truth is stark, the choice is clear,
I look upon the past:
I am not sorry that it broke,
I am simply glad at last.

The severing was not a hush,
But clash of will and word,
A necessary, cleansing fire
Where my own truth was heard.
I stood firm in the tempest’s heart,
Refused to be denied,
And drew a boundary, sharp and deep,
With nothing left to hide.

The lesson’s hard, but vital known:
Respect must be the core.
A friend should cheer the victory,
And lift you from the floor.
Your champions, they must remain,
To hold your spirit high,
But when support becomes resentment,
The basic contract dies.

When ally turns to critic’s shade,
A drain upon your soul,
They’ve breached the terms of fundamental trust,
And lost their rightful role.
The choice is not of cruelty,
But self-preserving might,
To cast the anchor from the boat,
And step back toward the light.

Assess the ones within your ship,
As you begin to rise;
Not all are rowing for your cause,
Some paddle with disguise.
Your soaring ambition reveals their truth,
Their loyalty gives way,
As jealousy’s shadow clips your wings,
And clouds your brighter day.

So now I mourn the anchor lost,
The friend who pulled me down.
The feeling is no sad despair,
But freedom’s joyful crown.
A paradoxical, weary joy,
A wish that bonds would hold,
Yet still the weight is wholly gone,
A future to unfold.

The boat is lighter now it sails,
The struggle set aside.
I’m rowing, finally, alone,
With nothing left to hide.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Wait Your Turn

/ / Leave a comment
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Wait Your Turn
They bid us work, and strive, and strain,
They preach the gospel of grit and pain.
The virtue of patience, a long-held breath,
Wait your turn, they assure, until death.
With diligent toil within the system’s fold,
Good things will come, a story often told.

They hail the high road of academic might,
Perfect grades, degrees, and the burning night
Of all-nighters, leading to institutions grand,
The path to success paved by a diploma in hand.
The central command, the mantra they impart:
Work hard, and success will fill your heart.

But the hollow sound their pronouncements make,
From a sheltered world, for goodnes’s sake.
A place sustained not by relentless effort’s cost,
But by the legacy that was never lost,
By exclusive gates and a lineage long,
A privilege entrenched, where they belong.

They fail to grasp the truth that grinds us down,
The doubled effort just to keep the crown
From slipping, just to stay where we began,
Disconnected from the struggle’s rigid plan,
That harsh existence which our lives define,
While they stand above, on heights divine.

What they possess, we desperately lack:
The insulating cushion on wealth’s track,
Money that shields them from survival’s fear.
They wield the power that holds the system dear,
Shaping the rules, not merely influence slight,
And connections unseen, a web of pure light.

A network of favors, a whispered invitation,
Opportunities passed through each generation,
A resource worth more than all the sweat we’ve spent,
Yet they command us to be more intent.
They stand on their platforms, elevated and cold,
“Work harder,” they shout, a story getting old.

This directive is a self-serving slight,
A useful tool for a blinding light,
To justify their perch, so high and so neat,
To placate the masses, a narrative complete.
Keep us focused on the effort of one,
Ignoring the structures, the battle unwon.

But now we pierce the veil, we understand,
Too long we’ve labored at their harsh command.
Our youth and our fire poured into the drain,
For a system of diminishing, aching pain.
We know by the certitude of what we live,
That harder work will not be enough to give.

It cannot breach the walls that they have raised,
It cannot lift the life we’ve always praised,
Nor close the chasm wide that separates
Their world of ease from the heavy fates.
The meritocracy’s promise, their comforting theme,
Is a fiction, a sermon, a vanishing dream.

It is a sham, a lie both vast and bold,
A hollow pretense, a story bought and sold.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unanswered Call

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Unanswered Call

The silence stretches, wide and deep, a space
Where my small ‘hello’ falls without a trace.
I check my phone, a habit worn and true,
A faint, false hope that maybe it’s from you.

The thread of connection, I’m the one who weaves,
The constant opener, the one who believes
That if I pause, if I just let it be,
The silence would grow to infinity.

I map the distance, gauge the growing gap,
And I’m the one who always has to ta
Upon the glass, the careful, gentle nudge,
To prove our bond isn’t built on a grudge.

I know your news, the triumphs and the strife,
Because I ask about your life.
I hold the mirror, catching all the light,
And listen late into the lonely night.

But oh, dear friend, a quiet, simple plea
Sometimes I wonder, do you think of me?
When the dark shadows start to close me in,
And my own battle is where I begin…

I wish just once, without a prompting word,
The unexpected check-in would be heard.
To see a message, a small, unsolicited sign,
“Are you okay? How are things on your line?”

To feel the warmth of being sought and seen,
And know I’m valued, not just a machine
For comfort given, always on the call.
I long to know I matter after all.

More Work by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Guard My Heart

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
broken heart against a blue background
Photo by Stas Knop on Pexels.com

Or Guard My Heart

A familiar voice, a reaching hand,
A bridge to mend, across a wounded land.
But echoes linger, of pain and strife,
A question lingers, of a fragile life.

Should I forgive, and let the past unfold,
Or guard my heart, a story yet untold?
To trust again, or doubt the friend I knew,
A tangled web, where choices intertwine.

Can wounds be healed, or scars remain?
A heavy burden, a constant strain.
To reconcile, or walk away with pride,
A battle within, where answers do not abide.

Thunderstorm

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

The sun, a blush on clouds so high,
Yields to a canvas, bruised and grey.
A sudden shift, a wind-whipped sigh,
As spring’s delight takes stormy play.

The drumming starts, a gentle beat,
On thirsty leaves and window pane.
A welcome change, the air so sweet,
Washed clean by nature’s cleansing rain.

The rumble rolls, a distant drum,
A giant’s voice in playful roar.
The world alive, no longer numb,
A vibrant dance on every floor.

Fat drops cascade, a silver sheet,
Diamonds scattered on the ground.
The scent of petrichor, so neat,
A perfume on the air unbound.

Lightning streaks, a fleeting spark,
A flash of light in nature’s hand.
The storm unfolds, a vibrant ark,
Renewing life across the land.

So snuggled safe, with book in hand,
The storm’s embrace, a lullaby.
A symphony in nature’s band,
A joyous song beneath the sky.