Echoes of Forgotten Heroes

There are stories that slip between the cracks of time — quiet songs and forgotten names that once shaped entire worlds. This poem is for them, the unseen and the unremembered, who live on in echoes and whispers.

Unseen words, forgotten heroes.
Whispered melodies, lost tunes.
Forgotten legends — heavy, yet precious.
Tales remembered by firelight —
Days of glory, honor, and valor,
Now nothing more than fading remnants.
Like holding an old keepsake,
Whispering echoes in silent reflections —
Treasures for those who know their worth.

"Some songs echo even in the quietest halls of memory."

Who Are You?

 

Night comes, I fall asleep, and dream

In my dreams, I see you

You are always there

Who are you?

Your face obscured, but your presence familiar

Your touch is as real as though you are right beside me

I feel like I have known you my whole life

Your voice — though I never truly hear it — I know it to be warm, deep, and rich.

Who are you?

Every night, a different dream, but you remain the same

A constant in the ever-changing land of dreams

Some nights, you hold me close, encased in strong arms, protected and loved.

Some nights, we hold hands, stroll aimlessly, or simply laugh and play.

But some nights, like tonight, I lie curled into you, my head on your chest, 

Your heart beats beneath, filling my ears. 

My arms wrapped across your waist, anchoring. 

Legs entangled with yours, resting on the coffee table

Your fingers run absently through my hair, 

a soothing rhythm while you watch the TV

You give a chaste kiss every time I stir

But your face remains obscure when I look at you

It is these nights, the morning after, when I would awake to reality and, 

with longing, to realise that you were a dream.

All these nights with you are bittersweet —
as painful to remember as they are to lose.

I am plagued with questions that make no sense...

Where are you?

Why do I miss you so much?

What is this yearning and longing I feel?

Who are you?....

My days are steeped in longing and melancholy,
missing a part of my soul — a half I’ve never met.

Questions that will never be answered.

What Have I Become!?

When the wind calls and darkness falls

Who then is the night?

Wolves howling

Demons prowling-

Is this the end?

I open my mouth and a silent scream escapes

Eyes roll to the back of my head.

Can you hear my cry!?

I can taste blood on my lips...such sweetness.

My victim lies unconscious while my hear pounds and ears ring as I gnaw my fingers.

What have I done!? Will he awake?

Bile rises from deep within,

choking back tears of remorse as despair clings like a second skin.

It wasn't suppose to be like this!

 A voice—my voice—laments, pleadingly.

But the monster, the ravenous beast with hunger and thirst yearning to be filled

could not be caged.

Oh God! the taste of blood holds me captive, it sings to me....

Mo sheinneadair. My singer.

The melody of his blood binds me, and still—

What have I become!?

        

Introduction

Welcome to The Weaver’s Page.
This is where the poetry lives—messy, aching, blooming, and sometimes sharp-edged.
I write what I feel too deeply to say out loud.
Here, you’ll find pieces of me stitched together in metaphor and mood, often touched by darkness, longing, or myth.
Not every poem is pretty. But they are all real.
If you’ve ever felt like your silence had a voice, or your pain needed shape—this space is for you.