There only ever is as much darkness

As we choose to let in our own hearts.

When the darkness enters our lives,

Do we chose to compromise our minds?

Do you stand as a candle in that dark,

Standing in watch and silence

For the fallen few consumed by the depths

Never to return to the warmth of open arms?

Do we choose to honour actively

by being sparks of light, in spite of our demons,

demons that defy the march of freedom and equality,

that continue to draw lines of divisiveness?

Stand in the night, candle in hand,

All you nations of beings, shining so bright,

Let us stand in solemn vigil with these fickle lights

To brighten even the hollowest, darkest of all nights.

Leave no sentient behind that fuels us forward,

let it be without need for observances in sorrow.

Let there be understanding in peace, for those to come

So that those that are gone are so, but we be forgiven.


To TWC’s followers!

Hey there followers!

I hope you’re enjoying the content on the blog so far!
I’m wanted to open up the page to you, as I’m looking to write new poems using suggestions from you ladies and gentlemen (and those who don’t identify as either, of course!).
Give me an idea for a theme you would like to see written on a coming poem, and I’ll get to work on it. I will credit you for the idea!

Leave me a comment below with your idea! Let’s call this…Fourth Quarter Creations!
…cause, you know, we’re in the fourth quarter of 2017!

Terrible name? Okay, well, we can work on that too…


– Coeur d’un Poète!

On Snow


It’s the front and back-end of the line,

the last of the seasons in the cycle of life.

Snow tumbles down from the sky

and everything falls into the calm of night.

You can absolutely be forgiven

for not appreciating or seeing the beauty

in the feeling of peace that snow passes on

when taking to the street in darkest night.

For all you see in the distance when looking out

is a thing doomed to be plowed

off the length of the driveway you own,

and on to that of your neighbor’s land.

Have you forgotten the snowman,

the snow angels, the snowballs?

All these little joys of our youths

that only come once a quarter-year?

I see no valid reason why

this weather be so damned different,

as there are many treasures to find

with every speck of snow that falls on the ground.




To The Stars


(Cr. Pr3t3nd3r)


(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)
(Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts by Coeur d’un Poète)


One needs no more than to gaze
at the wars we wage with eachother
and wonder when the bloodshed and anger,
fear and hatred will be passed and over.
We see so small this world shared with others
we’ve never left, nor gotten to work leaving,
that wondering what will mixes with wishing
for worlds beyond our reaching, waiting in the night.
Silent stars shine their light, lonely in sight,
their stillness sees through eons of existence
we’ve barely begun to scratch, safe in primitive science
saving the wonders as mysteries we’re not worthy to see.
This is the primacy of the modern human species,
of solitude and shame for the anomalies to conformity,
making deities in man’s image as excuses for piety,
to shy from curiosity, and combat what’s meant to be.

Survival’s our essence, discovery’s a necessity,
disovering causalities and commonalities beyond familiarity,
beyond the blue skies that boast their own natural beauty
and in the space succeeding, seated between struggle and survival.
Such is the hope surpassing that of one man
manning ambitions and expectations barely surpassing their nation
and not accounting for the needs of the whole over their own
now in need of nurture and structure to ensure all our futures.
Endeavour for the enterprise that brightens existence,
but ensures for everyone a sufficient subsistance.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Heaven is on high, but nigh an afterlife,
rather, a liberation from endless deliberations and confrontations
and the expectation of extension and outreach,
to reach our journey’s end and extend the stellar family.

Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow out or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our convictions.
Uncover the discoveries of the former, dormant universe
and unwravel within the mysteries where life begins.
Unity is a strength scolded not uncommonly,
but uneccessarily broken by the shackles of immaturity.
Go beyond, break the barriers of our Gaia,
and grow man’s reach through these gentle, waiting stars.
Faith in the familliar is as fickle as it is fruitless,
and fosters the failing of long forbidden longings.
Anticipate the needs along the length of time
and our ancestry will be one of a long line.
Hope of survival is the host of our struggle
but enduring life is lived in the lineage eternal.

Endeavours are enduring, as long as there’s no end or ceiling,
no Empire or enforcers to endure, and end this feeling.
Fumbling at first is the best measure of our learning,
for unending is the endeavouring of our pioneering beings.
Broker the prosperity that paves a better path,
and build the proper power to ensure a world free from wrath.
We are the architects of a world waiting in the wings
and waining the wills of hurts and hates of old.
Holster those harmful weapons where war is unwarranted
and work to build the homes of those yet to come.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our generations.


Somewhere, far beyond this land,

the forefathers of revolutions and true democracies

are tossing and turning in their graves

over the degeneration of their demos cratos.

“By the people, for the people” was the anthem,

but has become “by the masses, for the wealthy”.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité no longer precisely translates,

but is taken for property, privilege, and politics.

What is it with rich armchair politicians

who flash public office as a fashion statement?

Do they feel no remorse for their gluttonous greed

that stagnates the growth of human societies?


Fukayama was fundamentally flawed in stating

that democracy was the final stop of human history.

For now, history has fought back in the form of aristocracy

and decmocracy has been remade to satisfy their image.

Take note – we are no more than ants on the ground

hurriedly evading the crushing heel of the rich’s boots,

trying to carve out a decent living, and be recognized

in a system that no longer truly recognizes us.

When did our politics become little more than trash zones

for the despicable elements to find their feeding grounds?

Are we not more than bottom feeders forever meant to feed

the fortunes of those whose fortune dwarfs all commons?

Just as ancient free Greeks lusted for leisure,

and common folk labored without ease on their lives,

here we are again, at the whim of the gluttenous

who care not for the earthly dangers that threaten us.

From dependance propaganda to desperate devolution,

they will say anything to ensure their continued dominance,

to ensure common folk are always fighting each other

and to disturbed by themselves to end this damning cycle.