Nancy Ann Creed

Photo by Vladimir Fedotov on Unsplash  It was not a solo journey, It was meant for both of us to keep. A path shared, a mutual destiny, A bond where promises run deep. We walked side by side, our footprints one, A single narrative of hope begun. But the story broke, the path was closed, I stood on the chasm's crumbling brim, As a silhouette, slowly transposed Into the inevitable, growing dim. The 'we' became an 'I', a hollow sound, In this desolate, forsaken ground. Ashes and dust are all that stay Of the bright fire we held in trust, A barren landscape, grey today, Where life dissolved in the air's cruel gust. The physical presence is no more, Leaving the grit of loss upon the floor. Then voices come from the periphery, Offering platitudes in careful phrase. They say, "It is not personal, you see," A necessary turn in cosmic haze. A consequence, unavoidable and stark, A wheel that turns and leaves no malice mark. They speak these words, so cold and c...

  Photo by Hebert Santos on Pexels.com The Shattered Image The depth of my disappointment is immense, I truly thought you were a person of integrity, Whose every action would align, with no pretense, With the strong character you seemed to be. "I thought you were better" is too mild to say; I saw in you a loyalty I sought to find, A moral standard now just dust and clay, A shattered image of a perfect mind. The thing you did, or failed to do, you see, Was not a simple letdown; "it crushed me" whole. It was a devastating blow to my reality, A chasm swallowing my trusting soul. I had invested trust and boundless hope, An extraordinary quantity of "faith in you," To find it misplaced, I now must grope, A personal failure, though the fault is true. Our bond, which I so dearly held and prized, Was based on a belief in shared pure light. "I thought we were actually friends," I realized, Now every memory feels contaminated, blight. Each moment...

  Photo by  Annie Spratt  on  Unsplash A Silent Farewell I hide myself away, retreating from the world’s harsh light, To hide from those I fear, the shadows that invade the night. The whispers and the judging eyes, they pierce me to the core, So I draw the curtains closed, and lock the heavy door. I hide myself away, within this solitary keep, A silent farewell for now, while deeper secrets sleep. The silence of this self-made cell becomes a heavy shroud, I cried myself to sleep, a soundless weeping in the crowd. To hide and weep, my body shaking with the strain, To hide and weep, to wash away the bitter, throbbing pain. Each tear a wasted moment, falling in the deep, As promises I couldn’t keep haunt me while I sleep. A sharp regret now cuts the air: Why did I waste so much time? Consumed by baseless fear, an unforgivable, self-made crime. To fear what they say, the empty words that hold no weight, To let their careless judgments seal my solitary fate. I should have...

  Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com The Unbreakable Covenant We stand together, a multitude wide, Our inherent worth cannot be denied. We are the many, strong and profound, On worthy, undeniable ground. A powerful force, a presence complete, In every life's aspect, we cannot retreat. We are the bedrock, the muse, and the light, The mothers who nurture, the wives who unite. Companions and partners, the friends tried and true, The unwavering support, seeing the world through. Yet a flaw in our unity, a shadow we find, The support we give others, we leave behind. Hesitant to challenge, to push past the ease, To reach true potential that surely would please. And most painful of all, a failure to claim, The hard-won successes, and speak a sister's name. This must cease now, the passive days gone, We must seek out the moments, from dusk until dawn. To offer our praise, let our voices ring true, Each milestone a triumph, for me and for you. To consciously lift, giving momentum a...

Photo by  Greg Rakozy  on  Unsplash Sponges and the Soul Some people are like sponges. They soak up whatever is around them, And then pour it out on others. When they are with good people, They absorb your goodness, And then pour it out on others. When they are around toxic people, They become like them, And then pour it out on others. Don’t be a sponge. Know who you are. Beware of sponges and always be the good person So the sponges can soak up your goodness. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygdv

The Fearless Flight Take the chance at greatness, a choice for all, Be willing to reach, to answer the call. See what reserves within your spirit lie, Of strength and grace beneath the open sky. Commit to the dream, take the fearless flight, Forward with conviction, leaving behind the night. Hesitation is the foe of every deed, By fearing failure, planting doubt's cold seed. You'll never know the heights you could attain, The monuments you'd build through sun and rain. The touch of courage, how it might inspire, A beacon lit by your own brave fire. Embrace the call: Take the chance once more, See what you can do without a shore. Take the challenge, soar upon the breeze, Let past regrets dissolve with newfound ease. Don't look behind; the future lies ahead, Just keep the onward path and be well-led. Belief and grit define the way we go, The goals you set, the success you will know. Though failure whispers—part of learning's art— Do not let that dark shad...

  Photo by Eric Goverde on Pexels.com The jarring, insistent shriek, An alarm clock's metallic cry, Assaults the fragile morning's peace, A painful echo in the sky Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound Instantly swallowed by the deep, Heavy silence all around, I try to meld back into sleep. A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat, From sleep's warm, velvet, soft embrace, It snatches me, with sudden heat, And leaves my heart against my face. My eyes fly open, dark and blank, Staring up at the ceiling's shade, My body, safe within the bank Of blankets, a fortress I have made. But now the cold kiss starts to creep, A sharp, unwelcome morning chill, That pricks the skin I cannot keep Beneath the covers, lying still. With weariness, I fight the day, The first act: pull the fabric high, To hide, to make the light away, And plunge into a private sky. No. It can't possibly be now, Time is a thief that steals the night, I want to vanish, somehow, From all the expectations ...

  The Wall Within A hundred hands may wave hello, My circle stretches far and wide, A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces. I wear the badge of social glow, A persona polished by years of practice, With nowhere left for me to hide. From all the laughter, chatter, speed— The ceaseless, humming frequency Of a busy, pleasant, surface life. I move through it with practiced ease, A master of the graceful pivot, The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply. I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter, But plant no need, no urgent desire, To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife. That soil remains untouched, protected Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer. I’m fluent in the easy grace, The casual etiquette of the crowd, The light exchange, the friendly art Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled. I hold my ground, keep pace for pace With the energy swirling around me. But with a discipline honed by instinct, I guard the chambers of my heart. They see the joy, ...

  Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com The Tapestry of Poison The tapestry of life has threads of gloom, Where toxic darkness drains the spirit's bloom. Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly, Environments that stifle, habits that deny Our health, or institutions built on lies— The silent poisons that before us rise. As harmful are the ties that bring us pain, Some people in life who are toxic, they remain Emotional vampires, constant critics cold, Passive aggressors, stories to be told Of manipulation, thriving on the storm, Suffocating potential, leaving us worn. Beyond the things and people we may face, Some activities are toxic in this space. The compulsions offering distraction's grace, But long-term regret we cannot erase: The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll, The cycles that entrap and take their toll. So why do we still use these things we know? Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow? And why do we still talk to these people too? Is it guilt, ...

  Photo by Nicole Michalou on Pexels.com Holiday Bliss The year turns slow, a measured, quiet grace, The final, faded green surrenders place. The frost begins to cling, a crystal sheen, Upon the windowpane, a painted scene. And through the air, a certain sweet note rings, The hushed anticipation that it brings. The scent of pine, a memory held dear, The flicker of the flame that conquers fear. The simple joy of calling out a name, A bond rekindled in the hearth's warm frame. For in this season, when the world grows dim, We gather close—the sturdy branch upon the limb. The laughter spills from kitchens warm and bright, A symphony of comfort, pure delight. Reflecting back the twinkling festive light, That chases shadows from the longest night. The worn traditions, comforting and deep, The silent vows the generations keep. The treasured tales the passing years will house, Whispered from grandmother to the spouse. A mother’s gentle touch, a father’s quiet gaze, The simple, stu...

  Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com Acceptance is the Key The weight of a thousand eyes presses down, A silent, ceaseless judgment that I drown Within. I worry too much, an endless loop Of anxious thoughts, a psychological stoop About how others see me—the fleeting glance, The subtle shift, the judgment they advance. Each interaction is a stage, a test, Where my own self-worth is put to the best Or worst assessment by an external gauge. I turn each minor slip into a mental cage. I worry too much, an unrelenting fear, About whether they like me, holding me dear, Or casting me aside with cold indifference. The need for approval is a fierce presence, A hunger I can never seem to appease, Searching for acceptance on every breeze. I worry too much, the constant, weary drain, About what others think, the imagined stain They see upon my character or my name. This scrutiny I project is a cruel game, Where I am both the player and the prize, Obsessed with the mirrors in other peop...

  Begging You to Read My Book This is a request from the bottom of my heart. I put a piece of their soul into this book, dreaming of the day it would find its readers. I'm asking you, begging you... please be one of my readers. If you've ever wanted to support an author's dream, if you've ever wanted to get in on the ground floor of a new series you can fall in love with, please give The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Maeve a chance. This is how dreams live or die. Please. Read it. Fall in love. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

  I thought you were my certain shield, The one true, steadfast, loyal friend. A naive conviction, now revealed, That you would stand until the end, No matter the storm, the challenge faced, Your full resolve, completely placed. I sought a fierce, unwavering vow, A pure defense, holding nothing back, A perfect pledge, as you know how, To guard my ground along the track. A hundred percent, my only plea, Undeniable fealty. But that fierce certainty is gone, A shattered faith, a painful lie. I wake to realize at dawn, I lack the worth that merits why— I'm not enough, I see it clear, To warrant that support so dear. The wound of 'sorry' is a slight, A shallow balm that cannot mend The hollow ache of broken light; It will not bring the hurt to end. For others hold a higher seat, They taste the loyalty I greet. And so, the starkest truth remains, A bitter draught I must consume: To face the isolating rains, To walk alone within the gloom. I must accept, in every plight, I st...

  Photo by Ismael Sánchez on Pexels.com I am broken. The words, sharp and unwarranted, slice through the fragile shell I built. Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense, carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces. My carefully constructed dreams, ambitious plans, vital goals— all crumble before this onslaught, a lifetime of building reduced to dust. My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor. Why do these ephemeral sounds, mere vibrations in the air, hurt so? Why grant them such devastating power, to tear the fabric of our being, to leave us utterly immobilized? With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise. Muscles protest, heavy with despair. I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces from the unforgiving floor, cradling the remnants, a silent cry. I try, with feverish intensity, to mend— reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples. But none of them hold. The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental. A heart shattered by words cannot be fixed by physical objects...

  Photo by  Andrew Small  on  Unsplash A Flower A flower blooms in the soft morning light, A silent promise of enduring might. Spreading its delicate petals, a vibrant hue, Out to the warmth, the life-giving sun, shining anew. The celestial rhythm, the sun’s grand ballet, It rises with hope, and then fades away. Each day a fresh chapter, a pristine, clean slate, A boundless opportunity, sealed by no fate. Each new dawn brings a chance for profound, lasting change, To break free from confines, to truly rearrange. Each passing hour holds a chance for true greatness to bloom, To conquer the darkness and dispel all the gloom. Each single day is a new chance to reach for the dream, To fuel the deep passion, the bright, inner gleam. The flower drinks deep of the sun’s golden shower, Sustained by the light in this fleeting, sweet hour. It unfurls its beauty, a joy to behold and to see, Sharing its splendor with all, wild and free. Be like the flower, resilient and bold, Let...