Preaching To The Choir•

Posted on April 18, 2026 by csincere

It’s a sermon for the soul,

A confession,
Not just preaching to the choir, we’re hand‑in‑hand with each lesson.

Every time I step up, they say “you’re preaching to the choir,”
But the choir’s half empty, the echoes need a fire,
I’m writing verses like prayers, but I’m praying for myself,
No ego, just love on the shelf.

When the world says “enough,” I’m just getting louder,
Because my heart’s a megaphone, breaking down the doubter,
I’m not a preacher, I’m a student in the class,
Learning how to love, no matter how long it lasts.

Not just preaching to the choir, I’m singing to the sky,
Spreading love like sunrise, watch the darkness say goodbye,
Positivity, love, and understanding We need it all,
From the streets to every heartbeat, answering the call.

Everyone’s a choir, everybody’s a verse,
When we lift each other up, the universe reverses,
So I chant it twice, my soul needs that word too,
Love is not a sermon, love’s the rhythm that’s true.

Look, I’m wearing judgment like a jacket that’s too tight,
Shaking it off, let the light flicker, set the night right,
Every “you’re wrong” is a note that can turn into a chord,
If we flip the script, we can build a brand‑new board.

I’m speaking to the mirror, to the man in the glass,
Telling him “you’re worthy, you’re enough, you’ve earned a pass.”
And to the strangers scrolling through the feed, I’m saying,
“Pause, breathe, feel,let love be the foundation.”

The world’s a choir, but the seats are still free,
Pull up a chair, let the harmony be,
No more solo verses, no more silent applause,
We’re all on the same track,no matter the cause.

“Preaching to the choir? No, I’m teaching the choir how to sing.”

I’m the echo, I bounce back, I bounce higher,
Rising from the ashes of doubt, pure desire,
Every smile I give, every kindness I sow,
Feeds the garden inside,watch the love grow.

I’m not just preaching to the choir, I’m writing a hymn,
Turn the volume up on love, let the judgment dim,
Positivity, love, understanding, is our universal key,
I need it like the sun needs the sky, let it set us free.

Keep the love loud, keep the hearts strong,
We’re all the choir, we’re all the song.

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One Move/ One Mistake•

Posted on April 13, 2026 by csincere

I’ve seen so-called kings,stacking gold plates,
Every power play he made, he timed it like a date.
But a single misread, a bad comment in the wind,
Turned his empire to ash, now they say “where’s he been?”
I’m counting my blessings, not just the paper chase,
Because the world’s a mirror, it reflects both love and hate,
You can study every angle, run the numbers twice,
Still the universe will throw you dice, roll them and sometimes they are cold as ice,
The tallest towers fall when the ground starts shaking,
Even flawless façades has cracks that are aching.

So I lace my shoes, step carefully, but I’m not mentally blind,
Mistakes are lessons, not the end of the line.

Every legend you admire, they fell down numerous times,
Scraped knees, bruised pride, they kept the fire lit, not gone,
From the streets of Detroit to the lights of L.A.,
They fell, they rose, they turned the night into day,
I hear the gossip, the ridicule, the shade they throw,
But I’m built on prayer, on verses, on that holy glow,
When the critics shout “fail,” I hear a higher call,
“Stay humble, stay hungry, keep your spirit tall.”
God’s got the blueprint.

Mistakes are not a curse, they’re the compass in the night,
They point to where the soul must learn to fight,
Cautious steps or reckless steps , the journey is sometimes still the same, Keep a prayer‑filled heartbeat, a purpose in the flame.

So I’ll walk my path, eyes on the sky,
Every stumble’s a prayer, every rise is divine,
One move or one slip, the story’s still yours,

One good move, a billion steps, the crowds going to cheer,
One slip, the headlines scream,

Don’t let that put you in fear,
We’re all just human, trying to walk that tightrope,
Do your best, keep the faith, let the heavens hold your hope.

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Battle With Writer’s Block•

Posted on April 10, 2026 by csincere

I’ve been writing since the age of ten,
Ink on my skin, the story’s running deep within,
Fear of running dry, that silence in my head,
But when the verses flood, I feel alive instead.

Ten years old, notebook cracked, I’d doodle on the margin,
Like a rhyme spider web, every line a tiny garden,
My thoughts were “keep it real with myself,” so I’m planting my truth,
Authentic to the bone, no mask, no spoof

Every stanza’s a mirror, reflections of my world,
A‑minute thoughts‑to‑paper, time’s a straight line,
But the thoughts in the night, “what if I run out?”

I stare at the page, the cursor’s a cold stare,
Heart thumps a metronome, “why can’t I get there?”
I’m wrestling with the void, that writer’s block is a beast,

Every breath is a poem,
When the words flow free, I’m a river on a ridge,
Currents lift me up, no more stuck‑in‑the‑bridge.

I’m mad at the block, like a traffic jam on a freeway,
Red lights flash, but I’m ready to slay,
I break the chain, drop the “can’t” and the “won’t,”

Authenticity’s my compass, north star in the haze,
No faker’s glow, just the fire of my own blaze,
From ten‑year‑old scribbles to a veteran’s scroll,
I’m the author of my life, pen‑in‑hand, full‑control.

When the pen’s a sword, I duel my doubts,
Every line a lesson, every rhyme a shout,
If the well runs dry, I dig a deeper well,
Because my mind’s a mine, and I’m the one who sells.

So I keep the ink flowing, let the syllables spin,
Try to be authentic to the core, let the saga begin,
Writer’s block can try, but it’ll never own me,
Because I’m the poet, with an endless melody.

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Distant Family •

Posted on April 9, 2026 by csincere

Sometimes the closest bloodline feels like a far-off star,
We’re linked, but the map’s drawn in a different language.

Can I love you from a distance, like a skyline lit at night?
We’re not fighting, just strangers on a different frequency, right?
No common playlists, no shared memes, we’re walking separate lanes,
But family’s ink runs deep—blood’s the thread that never wanes.

We’re miles in the mind, but the bond’s forever tight.

I’m scrolling through our history, pages yellowed, ink still fresh,
Your laugh an echo in the hallway, a song I barely catch,
We are not at war, we just aren’t vibing on the same radio.

I’m a satellite, you’re the ground control, orbiting just out of reach,
Signals cross, static pops, but the antenna’s still in breach,
We don’t argue about the world, we just talk in different tongues,
Your hustle’s city streets, my grind’s quiet country runs.

Still, there’s a compass inside, pointing north to the same bloodline,
Even if our maps are torn, the destination’s the same sign.

We’re like two chapters in a book nobody’s read end‑to‑end,
Side‑by‑side on the shelf, never flipping, just pretend,
Your birthdays pass like postcards I never mailed,
My holidays are silent movies—no script, no detail.

But love isn’t measured in the common, it’s measured in the wait,
In the silent nods when the world tells us “don’t hesitate.”
I’ll send you a sunrise in a text, a night‑sky in a meme,
Even if the frames don’t match, the picture’s still a dream.

Family’s that old dial tone, humming low but always there,
Even when the conversation ends, the line’s still in the air.

We’re distant constellations, different colors in the night,
Yet the same galaxy pulls us back, gravity’s quiet might,
If love’s a language, we’re learning each other’s alphabet,
One day the letters’ll line up—no more “I don’t know you yet.”

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All Kinds Of Truth•

Posted on April 8, 2026 by csincere

Truth, it’s a mirror, sometimes crystal, sometimes steel,
One side shines divine, the other cuts like a blade you feel,
We chase the light, we dodge the shade, we mask what we can’t say,
All the forms of truth, they bleed, they heal, they shape the way we play.

We chase the light, we dodge the night,
Truth wears many masks,
From holy fire that lifts us higher, to the cold hard facts that sting,
We’re living in a world where truth’s the song we sing.

Truth that’s pure, a crystal‑clear cascade,
Straight from the carpenter’s hand, a love that never fades.
It’s the sunrise over deserts, the mercy in a prayer,
A promise that’s embossed in every breath of air,
When the choir sings “Amen,” the universe aligns,
Grace drips like honey, sweet, divine,
No counterfeit, no fake, this truth can’t be denied,
It’s the compass in the storm, the fire we ride.

Then there’s the truth that cuts like cold steel, no safety net,
Exposes hidden sins, the secrets you’d rather forget,
It drags the buried drama up from the attic floor,
Leaves you naked, trembling, begging for a door,
It’s the headline screaming “Scandal!” on the morning feed,
A mirror shattered, fragments of the lies we bleed,
When it hits, it burns, it ruins, it destroys,
But it clears the fog, reveals the real, the noise.

Now we hold the truth that’s tucked inside the quiet chest,
A kindness‑wrapped lie, “I’m fine,” when you’ re feeling stressed,
We hide the bluntness because the world can’t take the blow,
A little white curtain, we let the gentle wind flow,
It’s the “I love your shirt,” when the shirt’s a mess,
The “You’re okay,” when your heart’s a wreck and stressed,
We’re diplomats of feelings, keeping peace in the room,
But the weight builds, and the silence starts to loom.

And then there’s “your truth,” the story you script and own,
A theory, a belief, a throne you built from bone,
It’s the conversation that spreads, the vibe you can’t contest,
It can’t be proven or disproven, still you wear it like a vest,
It’s the “I’m a genius,” when the grades say “otherwise,”
Or the “I’m blessed,” when the odds stack high,
It’s subjective, fluid, a shifting, mental tide,
A personal echo chamber where you choose to hide,
We argue, we debate, we post on every feed,
But every “truth” is a lens, a filter, a seed.

Four faces of the same coin, spin it, watch it flip,
Truth can lift you up, or you can let it rip,
Know when to bow, when to stand, when to stay mute,
Because the power of the truth is the ultimate loot.

So keep your ears open, your heart on the line,
Respect the many truths, let them all intertwine,
In the end we’re all seekers, each path a different route,
Living, learning, loving… in the many shades of truth.

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Hero

Posted on April 7, 2026 by csincere

I’m a pen‑wielding vigilante, no cape, no flight,
My super‑power’s prayer, my ink’s the holy light,
I’m not the greatest poet, I’m not the fastest scribe,
But I’m a messenger.

When I sit on the page, the world feels like a big stage,
Every line a battle, every rhyme a prayer‑gauge,
I have no X‑ray vision, no lasers from my eyes,
Just a humble heart that bows when the verses align.

I’m not a savior, I can’t lift mountains high,
My hope’s fixed on the Maker, He’s my reason why,
My metaphors may wobble, my couplets sometimes slip,
But every flaw is a testimony, a humbleness‑script,
I’m not the best writer, I’m not the sharpest poet,
Yet I pray his Spirit fuels my cadence, makes a positive message flow through it.

Superheroes need a cause, not just a glowing ring,
Their muscles are conviction, their armor’s what they bring,
My armor’s verses stitched with faith, my shield’s the psalm,

I fight with creativity, thoughts as sharpened swords,
Each metaphors are bullets, each chorus opens doors,
When the world’s in darkness, I light it up with rhyme,
Not by my own strength, but by his divine design.

I’m not here to try to change the whole map of humanity,
Just to drop a seed, let the Spirit’s wind set it free,
If a single soul feels the pulse of what I’m saying,
Then the mission’s done.

No X‑ray vision, no superspeed or flight,
Just a quiet confidence that comes from his holy might,
Sometimes when I write, I raise my hands and pray,
“Lord, use my broken verses, turn someone’s night to day.”

Remember why I write,
Not for fame or glory, but to share my creative light,
A superhero’s heart can beat in the humblest chest,

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When I Close My Eyes•

Posted on April 6, 2026 by csincere

When I close my eyes, I see the reels rewind,
Bad nights, bright lights,both stuck in my mind,
Future painted golden, blessings on the line,
I’m the author, I’m writing every line.

I pull the curtain back, watch the past unfold,
Echoes of a broken bike, the first love I let go,
Cold sweats in the hallway, sirens in the night,
Mom’s soft lullaby, a birthday candle’s light,

Every scar’s a paragraph, inked deep in my skin,
Bad memories like static, but they teach me how to win,
I’ve danced on cracked concrete, slipped on sweet applause,
Tripped on my own ego, then I found a higher cause,

The laughter in my chest still rings like a church bell,
The tears are just the rain that helps the garden swell,
I’m scrolling through the frames, I don’t delete the pain,
I keep the footage because it’s fuel for what I’m about to gain.

Now I close my lids, switch the channel to tomorrow,
Blueprints of a future where the sunshine burns no sorrow,
Vision crystal‑clear, no fog of “what‑ifs” or “maybe”,
Just a runway of blessings, ready for take-off,

I’m planting trees of patience, harvesting calm,
Counting every sunrise like a quiet, steady psalm,
No more chained to the “could’ve‑been”, I’m free in this frame,
Future’s a blank canvas, God’s the one who signs the name,

Got a pocketful of gratitude, it’s heavy, it’s gold,
Every step I’m taking leaves a story yet untold,
I’m stitching up the past with threads of present truth,
Turning every old wound into a brand‑new proof,

So when the world tries to dim my inner light, I blink,
Close my eyes, summon storms, then I let them sink,
Because I see a world where love is the only currency,
And every blessing’s a beat inside my heart’s symphony.

I am not blind, though my eyes are shut,yet my vision is wide,
Past and future dance together on the inside,
Blessings are not a wish, they’re a promise I claim,
When I close my eyes, I’m already home,

I always pray this in his magnificent glorious name.

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Simple Love (Collection of Haiku’s)•

Posted on April 5, 2026 by csincere

Love Sunrise

Your smile, sunrise bright 
Love glows within the soft curve 
I see your heart shine

Summer Love

Sun‑kissed afternoons,
laughter drifts on warm breezes,
fireflies seal the kiss

The Flavors Of Love

Sweet, sour, quiet, bold, bright
Heart savors each season’s soft song
Love stays, ever fresh, still

Endless Love

Endless stars align
Hearts beat as one through ages
Love forever blooms

Spring Love

Love buds in spring rain
soft petals kiss the warm sun,
hearts bloom, endless hues.

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Infinite Loop (My Thoughts On Real Love)

Posted on April 3, 2026 by csincere

I’m not talking about a season, love doesn’t ebb, it’s a tide,
When it’s real it’s a circle, it never says “good‑bye.”
No flick‑off switch, no “once we were in love, now it’s gone,”
It’s a permanent script, we write it in stone.

They say love’s a spark, a flame that can sputter,
Like a candle in the wind, they think it can flutter,
But I’m the type that watches the sun rise and set,
Know that a true heart doesn’t ever need a reset.

I’ve seen stories of “we were in love, now we’re done,”
But those were pictures painted with a cheap crayon,
They say “fall in love,” then “fall out,” like a roller‑coaster,
A love that’s real is a compass, never a GPS,
It points the same direction even when the world’s a mess.

I’m not a poet who’s stuck on “once upon a time,”
I’m a chronicler of forever, ink that never dries,
When the fireworks fade, the embers still glow,
It’s not a “phase” it’s the furnace that’ll ever flow.

If you’re counting heartbeats like a metronome’s tick,
Know that the rhythm stays, it just gets slick,
We are not “in‑and‑out” like a door you can lock,
We’re welded together, a lock that can’t be unlocked.

Love is not a playlist that you shuffle and skip,
It’s the whole album, every track, every script,
When we say “together,” we meant until the last breath,”
No “exit sign” posted on this love‑infested depth.

So if you ever hear a friend say, “He fell out, she fell out,”
Just smile, nod, and remember what love’s really about,
It’s a current that never drains, a story that never ends,
Real love isn’t a season; it’s the whole year, a forever‑friend.

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Playing Both Sides•

Posted on April 3, 2026 by csincere

You can’t paint yourself a saint while you throw stones,
“Don’t judge me,” you yell, then you lock the door,
You flip the script, you switch the roles every night,
One minute you’re the monster, the next you’re the light.

You love to dissect, to point out my flaws,
But when the mirror shows your cracks, you press the pause,
It’s a paradox, a circus of two‑face,
You’re the judge, the jury, and the one who can’t face.

I’m not saying it’s simple to pick a side,
But the double‑talk game, that’s a toxic ride,
You toss the blame like dice on a table,
Then hide the score when you’re feeling unstable.

Villain and victim? That’s not fair,
Talking down to others, but you can’t take the heat,
Hypocrisy’s a prison, and you’re stuck in the seat.

You write your story in black‑and‑white ink,
But the world’s in color, and you’re forced to think,
Criticize the crowd, but you want no feedback,
A silent echo chamber, that’s a fact.

Every time you point, you’re pointing at yourself,
Your ego’s a shield, but it’s rusted and thin,
The louder you shout, the more you’re stuck within.

You handout pain, but you still want to feel the love,
Stop playing both sides, just own your part,
Because the real power’s in a clean, honest heart.

So drop the mask, let the real you breathe,
No more split‑persona, no more emotional thieves,
Judge yourself first, then you’ll see the light,
Because a kingdom built on truth never fades in the night.

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