Nancy Ann Creed

  The Shadow in the Room My words mean nothing, they drift like falling leaves, Unheard and unvalued, while my spirit grieves,  speak into the vacuum of your cold indifference, Finding no echo, no bridge, no deliverance. My heart means nothing, it's a pulse, a quiet plea, For a glimmer of worth that you refuse to see, Beating against the cage of your neglectful gaze, Lost in the fog of these hollow, endless days. You do what you want, in your self-centered tide, With little care for me, or the pain I must hide, Sweeping through the hours with a callous disregard, While I am left to mend what you have torn and scarred. Significance fades, I am sealed by fate, An afterthought wrapped in isolation's state, Waiting on the periphery of your vibrant world, Like a banner forgotten, forever left unfurled. Until you need something, a favor to lend, Then I am important, a convenient friend, Suddenly the shadow gains a sudden, sharp light, And I am summoned briefly from t...

  Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com A Simple Text, a Phone Call, a Letter To reach out to you would be so easy, A simple text, a phone call, a letter even. "How are you?", but I know that wouldn't do. It's been too long, too much water under the bridge. So I'll just sit here and miss you instead, Relive the memories we made, the good times we shed, The laughs we shared, the tears we cried. I'll hold onto those moments forever, inside. I know that you're out there somewhere, Living your life, making new memories, But I can't help but wonder if you ever think of me. Do you ever miss me the way I miss you? I'll never know the answer to that question, But I'll continue to hold onto the hope that one day, We'll find our way back to each other, And pick up where we left off, like no time has passed. Until then, I'll just keep missing you, And hope that you're doing well. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed Th...

  Photo by Khoa Võ on Pexels.com A Ghost in the Neon Hum City’s plus, a symphony Footstep, whispers, horns’ blare, Unseen, unheard, a ghost I roam. I drift through crowded avenues where life flows fast, A silhouette of a story, a remnant of the past, You pass by, thoughts afar, Never noticing the shadow rear, My name, once a melody, now fades, My voice is just an echo in the concrete and the stone, A quiet plea for presence, in a world I walk alone, Neon lights, a path aglow, Darkness cloaks, from sight I hide, Creature of night, moon and stars my witness, The electric haze illuminated the distance in your eyes. While underneath the starlight, my true self quietly dies, Did you see me, truly see? In memory’s weave a thread for me? Or just a ghost, haunting your mind’s edge? A lingering impression of a soul you didn't keep, Lost within the shallow world while I am buried deep. More Work by Nancy Ann Creed The Shadow Realm Chronicles Maeve E-books payhip.co...

  Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash The Space They Left I saved a seat for you so long, I learned to love the empty space, And hummed the verses of a song That time and silence would erase. You used to be a steady light, Or so my foolish eyes believed. But looking back in clearer sight, I see how deeply I was grieved. For friendship isn’t hide-and-seek, Where I am always left to find A minutes' scrap within your week, A fleeting afterthought of mind. "Too busy," was the familiar refrain, A shield you wore to keep at bay The text, the call, the quiet pain Of watching bonds just drift away. So let it be. No anger here. No bitter words to stain the past. The view ahead is sharp and clear, And freedom has arrived at last. I close the door without a slam, And walk into a warmer dawn. I’m remembering just who I am— I’m letting go, and moving on. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

  Photo by PNW Production on Pexels.com Wanting to be Known The threshold of the door is wide and bright, A circle gathers, laughing in the glow, And I am here, caught somewhere in the light, Desiring more than just the names I know. I see the surface, beautiful and clear, The pleasant currents where we dive and play, But oh, I want the ocean deep from here— I want to wash the quiet guard away. I want the late-night, sitting-on-the-floor, Unvarnished truths, the fears we never speak, To open wide the heavy, bolted door, And show the places where the walls are weak. I long for ties that weather through the storm, The kind of tether time cannot undo, Where sitting in the silence keeps us warm, And being known means being valued, too. But heavy armor isn't easily shed, And stepping closer feels like stepping blind. The words I mean to say stay in my head, While careful, safer phrases wait behind. It is so hard to pull the veil aside, To offer up the soft, unshielded p...

  Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash To My 4 Readers: You Are My Ultimate Motivation Every now and then, people look at the analytics of a small blog, and I read the report, and it says, “4” next to the blog. But to me? That doesn’t matter at all. The point isn't about massive, viral numbers. The point is that someone out there is genuinely interested in my work. When I look at those numbers, I don't see a small statistic—I see real individuals who chose to take a few minutes out of their busy days to step into my world. Whether you came for the poetry or the stories, you took the time to read it. And from the bottom of my heart, I pray that you truly enjoyed it and that you want to read more. The Reality of the Writing Dream We’ve all heard the complaints in the writing community: "I'm just not making a lot of money doing this." And sure, of course I want to sell books! Writing is an investment. Between hiring professional ed...