poetry written by Author Sam Tumblin
Embers of flame in the left
Crimson black on the right
So my heart continues to fight
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*”There is no beauty,” some will say,
Yet often their eyes remain closed.
They rush through each unfolding day,
Blind to the wonder nature composed.
They fail to pause, they fail to see
The quiet grace in every view.
For beauty lives in you and me,
In every soul both old and new.
It’s all within the beholder’s sight,
A choice to look beyond the fear.
To welcome hope, to seek the light,
And find that beauty’s always near.
Dismiss the voices filled with doubt,
Release the burdens you have worn.
Let every grateful heartbeat shout
That beauty greets each waking morn.
“There is no beauty,” some still say,
Their weary eyes remaining closed.
But open yours without delay—
And see the masterpiece life’s composed.
Why do we so often admire the rose? Its elegant petals, captivating fragrance, and timeless beauty draw us in. Yet beneath its charm lie thorns, reminding us that beauty is rarely without complexity. This reflective poem explores how we are attracted to outward appearances while often overlooking the deeper lessons hidden beneath the surface. Through the symbolism of the rose, the poem encourages readers to appreciate both beauty and resilience in themselves and others.
A dark and atmospheric poem by Sam Tumblin, “Eager Eyes of the Raven” follows the watchful presence of a raven whose curious eyes wander through mystery, thought, and shadow. A gothic reflection on observation, freedom, and the fascination of the unknown.
ENGRAVED IN SHADOW
My heart, you had inherently graven,
From the moment we met, my soul was craven.
For us to be together forever was my haven,
A dream I cherished, a path well paved then.
I thought you were the answer to every maze,
The light that guided me through endless days.
Your presence softened every burden I was given,
And in your smile, I found a reason for living.
Yet seasons changed beneath a darkened sky,
Leaving only questions and the reason why.
The promises we made were swept away,
Like fleeting shadows at the break of day.
Now my heart feels barren and shaven,
The love once carved no longer engraven.
What I believed was written in stone,
Has faded into memories I face alone.
So here I sit beneath the raven’s wing,
Listening to the silence sorrow brings.
Darkness surrounds what once was my haven,
As I wander the night, lonely as a raven.
Still somewhere beyond the night’s embrace,
A distant dawn may reveal its face.
For even ravens eventually take flight,
Seeking another sky beyond the night.
THE LINES WE DRAW
Some lines can be drawn in sand,
Yet tides erase what we had planned.
Too bad the lesson comes too late,
After scorn has sealed its fate.
The heart once thundered through the storm,
Now lies silent, stripped and worn.
Flat as a horizon drained of light,
Waiting for a reason to ignite.
Everyone passes without a pause,
Stepping across old wounds and flaws.
Like a doormat left beneath the rain,
Absorbing every trace of pain.
Is this the way life was meant to be?
A fractured vision of unity.
A world that speaks of peace and grace,
Yet leaves compassion without a place.
No raven eyes remain to peer,
No shadowed warnings drawing near.
A perfect triangle, sharp and clear,
Promising a world without fear.
Yet still you breathe, the pulse remains,
A river moving through the veins.
Though sorrow gathers in its keep,
And restless thoughts disturb your sleep.
The mind traverses distant miles,
Beyond forgotten tears and trials.
The cranium carries what words can’t keep,
And slowly, quietly, you weep.
But somewhere beneath the fractured seam,
Lives the ember of a dream.
For as long as breath and heartbeat stay,
The lines you draw can change one day.
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Reflections Without Permission
By Sam Tumblin
Why sometimes when we reflect, we need a reason,
As though our thoughts arrive according to a season.
Other times they come uncalled, upon a whim,
A sudden tide of memories where the edges dim.
The mind engages when it chooses to explore,
Unlocking hidden corridors behind a silent door.
Visual perceptions spark and brightly ignite,
Awakening old shadows concealed from sight.
A face once known, a road once traveled before,
Returns without warning and settles at the shore.
The cranium haunted by echoes of yesterday’s sound,
Searching for answers that may never be found.
Is reflection a teacher, or merely a guest,
Testing our spirit when it interrupts our rest?
Perhaps it arrives to reveal what remains unseen,
Between what we remember and what might have been.
So when those thoughts wander through the chambers of the mind,
Do not rush to leave their quiet lessons behind.
For even fleeting reflections that arrive unannounced,
May hold the very wisdom for which our hearts have pounced.
❤️ God bless You
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Borrowed Seasons
We walk through borrowed seasons here,
Measuring moments year by year.
A fleeting guest beneath the sky,
Watching endless days drift by.
Gather memories where you roam,
Every road can lead you home.
Leave your laughter in the air,
A mark that says you once were there.
The clock asks nothing, makes no plea,
It moves with quiet certainty.
Taking sorrow, taking cheer,
Carrying all we hold so dear.
So write your story bold and true,
With every dream you dare pursue.
For when the final chapter’s done,
The journey lives though time has won.
Borrowed Seasons
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What Was Meant
Why do you say what you said,
When you did not mean it that way?
Was it to the listener’s heart you pled,
Or were you running from past mishaps that stay?
Words once spoken cannot retreat,
Though intentions may have been sincere.
A careless phrase can bring defeat,
Or awaken an old forgotten fear.
Perhaps the burden of yesterday’s pain
Cast shadows upon what you wished to convey.
Leaving thoughts entangled in a chain,
And turning clear skies suddenly gray.
So choose your words with mindful grace,
And let honesty guide what you impart.
For meaning is more than a spoken phrase—
It is the bridge that reaches another heart.
— What Was Meant
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One Life
Why when I sleep am I still awake,
Living another life that feels no fake?
Opening and closing countless doors,
Traveling endless halls and distant floors.
Through silent worlds my spirit roams,
Wandering places that feel like homes.
Then morning comes and I arise,
Returning once more beneath these skies.
When I open my eyes from sleep’s embrace,
I reflect on the journeys, each curious place.
Wondering where I’ve been through the night,
Chasing shadows that vanish with light.
Sometimes I wish for only one life,
A simple path untouched by strife.
To rest my mind and finally be free,
A mortal soul at peace with me.
By Sam Tumblin
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