Author: Jacob Roggensack

the years were not kind,
but neither was i fragile.
i stumbled, i fell,
yet i rose, again and again.

every scar, a map
of the places i thought
i’d never escape.

but i’m here.
and that,
is reason enough to be proud.

is it time?
snow melts, slipping away without a sound.
leaves fall, no struggle, no second thought.
the wind calls my name, over and over.

i’ve held on too long.
fought too hard.
for what?

the rain doesn’t fight.
it falls.
it sinks.
it disappears into the earth,
forgotten before morning.

maybe i should too.
let go.
drift.
be nothing.

no more waiting.
no more hoping.
no more.

just quiet.
just the wind carrying me away.
just the rain washing me clean.

just nothingness.

the gravel crunches soft beneath my steps,
moonlight spilling through the trees
lighting up the unknown.

it’s quiet,
but not empty-
just the kind of quiet
that makes you feel like the world’s still listening.

leaves shift in the dark,
a breeze brushes past
like someone almost saying something.

the stars hang low and easy,
not watching, just there-
steady, familiar,
like they’ve been waiting
to walk with me a while.

no questions here,
no need to answer.
just me, the night,
and the pull
of someplace i can’t name.

the sky spills its gold slowly,
a hush falling over rooftops and trees,
like the world is folding itself into a soft sigh.

the light clings a little longer
to the edges of life,
as if unsure about leaving.

i watch it go,
not saying much-
just listening to the quiet
beneath the quiet.

somewhere between the dusk and dark
a weight shifts
just enough to go unnoticed.

even in the silence
of an empty forest,
the tree
still remembers how to cry
on its way down.

in English, we say “It is what it is.”

in poetry, we say:

“the sun will set,
the tide will turn,
the stars will rise and fall again,
and the rose will bloom.

time will not stop
as the world turns
and the wind blows.

it may not always be fair,
or kind,
or clear,
but it’s okay.”

the wind presses in-
soft, then cruel,
yet the lantern quivers,
a quiet flame holding firm,
never letting go of its light.

the hourglass turns over,
sand beginning to fall
as time ticks down-
slowly.

each grain a breath,
memory of what was
or hint of what will.

patience must be had
as the light shifts
and shadows lengthen.

take the leap.

time is ticking.

clocks no longer tick,
crickets lose their chirp,
and the stars fade away.

it approaches-
silence
darkness

despair?

nothing appears.
the journal is open,
staring back like still water.

i sit.
i wait.
it doesn’t help.

words used to mean something,
now they’re just floating
but also sinking.

even silence
feels like noise.

maybe i am empty.
maybe the page is right.