It's only natural.

I see, I said

as you spoke

of sunshine and little trifles, overseas

you talk about the crash of waves

on war torn beaches with stardust

where tourists bronze

and all those finer spots

yet untouched, native green

or naive, I think it's called

The dark has one demand

always one, of us... as an ear

suctioned to the chest

of Life,

with

shock

and grievance:

"Tell me how..."

listening, not breathing;

"...how your heart..."

in utter silence

of internal night

"...was broken?!"

shook

...no longer beating

when the whole world

out here, goes on living???

ΝΙΨΟΝΑΝΟΜΗΜΑΤΑΜΗΜΟΝΑΝΟΨΙΝ

June 09, 2025

In terms of palindromes, this one may be the record. Engraved on a washing fountain (the fiali) that used to exist externally to the Imperial Cathedral in Constantinople, the phrase translates from Greek to “Wash your sins, not only your face”.

Since the fountain was circular, a person could read the phrase whether they walked clockwise or counterclockwise around the fountain.

I used to love mirrors.

Windows and mirrors, but mirrors even more so held fascination for me because these didn't open up space somewhere out there... they doubled it, right here and now. Of course, glass is glass, and both windows and mirrors cut a person from that place beyond. But the magic of mirrors, in doubling, is that they magnify, as if, the light and mood.

Our atmosphere.

A window, big or small, only exaggerates the confines of the interior.

The interesting point, to which I am slowing coming to, is that I never saw myself in these mirrors, only the silent beatific extension of living room. So much so that in every house I've ever lived I have liberally hung these before even thinking about curtains. It will be of no surprise that then I lived alone.... and on reflection, not alone...

In my current abode, having grown old, I have several companions, human and animal. I have hung only one mirror, and this I said aloud, while hanging it, was for safety.

It's by the rear door, and in our shot gun sort of house, shows everything over the shoulder.

Hey everyone. I’m still here for now. If you are thinking of leaving, I just wanted to extend my thanks for your contributions to this community. I hope you find another venue to post your writings. I have always supported being true to your heart and yourself. Doing what’s right for you is never a wrong decision.

“asdfjkl:” is the universal resting position on a keyboard. It’s where you go from there that makes your writing come alive. And not everyone knows what sequence of keystrokes are required to compose something worthy of reading. So wherever you end up, keep sharing your unique talent so others are moved or inspired.

I’ve been part of Prose for almost a decade. Back when it felt like a hidden corner of the internet where storytellers and poets actually saw each other. We weren’t chasing likes, we were chasing connection. And somehow, we found it.

To every writer who commented on my pieces, DM’d me, encouraged me, or shared their own soul in return: thank you. You made this place worth logging into.

But I can’t pretend this place is what it used to be. A paywall dropped overnight. No heads-up. No email. And suddenly, years of writing, our writing got locked behind a monthly fee.

If we hadn’t spoken up, we wouldn’t even be able to retrieve our own words.

I get it...platforms need money. But let’s not confuse community with control. This wasn’t transparency. It was silence until enough of us made noise.

So I’m choosing to walk. Not out of bitterness, but out of self-respect. I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep connecting. Just not here.

If you're reading this and you’ve ever supported my work, thank you. That part was real.

The rest? We outgrew it.

i can't believe i've been writing here since middle school and now i'm only a year out from graduating college. this place has helped give me reasons to stay alive. so many people have supported me here and i'm so, so grateful for the community. it has truly been a privilege to share my thoughts here instead of keeping them locked up in my mind. unfortunately, having become a paid platform, prose is no longer accessible for me. i will not be deleting my account but i will no longer be updating on it. in the future, updates will be on Poetry Farm, at the same username. it may take me some time to finish setting it up, and i may or may not re-upload everything i have posted on here. thank you for all these years, and if you choose to keep following my work, thank you! a final snippet for prose:

i write you my little rubies, make a ring and keep my mind forever.

Decision Time

June 08, 2025

I enjoy eating eggs. I do not enjoy reading the research on eggs. I can't tolerate it if someone told me I had to pay just to look at eggs even if I was the person who brought the eggs to be looked at.

However, imagine I owned a shop that displayed eggs of all types, almost a museum for eggs. I have bills to pay. I have time invested. I cannot permit the world to display their eggs for free in my building.

I get it.

So, it is decision time. Do I pay to display eggs even though the museum owner locked me out with no warning, forbidding me to remove my eggs, until I pay? Or do I perform a cost vs. benefit analysis to see if I really want to keep displaying my eggs?

The cost has always been low at this museum. I've been displaying eggs here for nearly a decade. Some people like what they see. Other, not so much. It comes with the territory.

But, it just eats at me to see my eggs locked up, without any notice which the museum owner has always provided during my stay here. He has always given fair warning if and when changes were to be made.

Just not this time. And this time, it stings.

So I choose to pay the price and keep displaying my eggs.

But, I understand when others don't.

I am also hedging my bet because I am curious if there are other egg museums. I wonder what their terms are for displaying eggs.

Not all museum patrons are vocal with their intent. But, all museum patrons comparison shop. This also comes with the territory.

I used to look out for ghosts,

in through many windows

I used to whistle different tunes

to bring the cells into view,

Spaces of me and you...

reminds me of a refrain

a song when heard in full

I hated

in monologue

because it could have been

really good,

"...Is this what you wanted..."