Before you existed. Before the oceans breathed. Before the first green thing turned its face toward the sun, it was already here.
Eternal Droplet traces the incredible biography of a single molecule of water, born in the frozen heart of a comet and flung into the newborn Earth four billion years ago. It has been breathed by dinosaurs, locked inside glaciers, carried kingdoms to the sea, and whispered through the veins of civilisation itself.
And one quiet autumn morning in 2024, it came to rest — trembling, luminous, whole — on the gilded edge of an oak leaf along a nature trail, where a passing aspiring poet happened to look up.
This is the story of that droplet. It is also, perhaps, the story of everything.
What are we, really — these brief arrangements of ancient starlight, asking questions in the dark?
Born from the same furnaces that forged the universe, we carry within every cell the residue of exploded suns. Cosmic Contemplation is a philosophical free-verse poem that dares to hold the full weight of that inheritance: the breathtaking magnificence of conscious life, the shadow of our capacity for destruction, and the aching, unresolvable question of whether any of it — love, thought, creation, grief — echoes beyond the brief boundary of a single human breath.
This is existential poetry written at the intersection of science and the soul — a meditation on the human condition, the paradox of self-awareness, and the consolation, if one exists, of searching for meaning in the face of an indifferent cosmos.
It will not give you answers. It will give you better questions.
A ready meal. An expired parking ticket. A pint of milk that waited one morning too long. And somehow — all of it the same.
This wry, warmly observed comic poem begins exactly where life does: in the small, the overlooked, the quietly embarrassing. A microwave counts down. A parking warden smiles. Library fines mount in the dark. But with each ticking, pinging, curdling little defeat, the refrain falls — and time ran out — until the joke becomes something else entirely.
Deceptively light, quietly devastating, and carried by a perfectly controlled comic-philosophical rhyme, And Time Ran Out is a poem about procrastination, human folly, and the one deadline none of us can argue our way out of. Read it once for the laugh. Read it twice for what the laugh is hiding.
The diet plan. The jeans from a decade ago. The book that stayed locked in your head. The friends whose numbers are still in your phone.
We all have a list like this — the things we meant to do, the people we meant to call, the crafts we meant to learn before it became too late to learn them. This rhyming poem works its way through those small, familiar deferrals, moving from the gently comic to something rather harder to shake off, ending at a mirror where a stranger looks back and the years have somehow already gone.
