Annieb222
LightNews LightNews
annieb222.bsky.social
Annieb222
@annieb222.bsky.social
380 followers 480 following 300 posts
I acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the lands we live on & pay respect to all Elders past & present of all First Nations Australians, poet, https://annieb222.com/
Posts Replies Media Videos
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Loss is deep wound my soul bleeding spilling crimson into the night once more I am lost loneliness stretches her wings and folds them softly over me memories are haunting every corner of this quiet night drifting like lost blossoms both painful and lovely but fragile like glass they shatter the wounds familiar I am sailing on a sea of pain the waves of loss, rise and fall black and overwhelming bruised and broken I still miss the sound of your beating heart © Ann Bagnall
November 21, 2025 at 7:38 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
My dreams remain unspoken through these long, lonely nights there is a longing I cannot name all is lost and covenant broken the things of love and beauty are now all but memories water lapping at my feet the broken image of the moon on the turbulent surface once more I am lost loneliness stretches her wings and covers the sun folds them softly over me memories haunt me like blossoms floating in ruins painful and lovely fragile like glass they shatter their wounds familiar as I sail on a sea of pain the waves rise and fall black and so overwhelming the dark bruises of love © Ann Bagnall
November 21, 2025 at 7:35 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
I have thrown a thousand wishes to the wandering winds and watched them as they fell upon the roaring flames now all but ashes dissolving into the restless night silenced, like lost echoes, or truth yet somehow lingering still slowly drifting as the wind is dying like an old bruise its’ colours slowly changing shifting from red to black and slowly fading into many shades of blue until I can’t see them anymore but I can still feel them here the shadows of yesterday still walk beside me they are quietly whispering of all of the things that can no longer be just as they linger in places that I can no longer see the soft melodies of long lost hopes and broken dreams haunt the edges of my reality and I ache for the time when they set me free I continue to pretend that I am going somewhere but I am really stationary going nowhere at all the mind is unmercifully cruel it edits and it replays brightens the moments that I tried to let fade such artistry it takes to paint these scenes but when I reach for you my arms are empty and all I can see is light refracted through a broken prism the slow realisation that looking back is just another way of standing still and the silence as mute as the grave completes the thought © Ann Bagnall
November 21, 2025 at 7:33 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
They move through me silently those I once loved as if caught in a gentle sea of celestial debris I can see them at the edge of dreams in the depths of the mirror not gone, only receding as the stars, whose light takes centuries to fade retrograde motion an optical illusion draws them near spectral fragments of unfinished stories time itself falters and I float amongst them each ghost an orbit each orbit a question that was never resolved the true meaning of retrograde not regression, but recognition a moment when the past draws close enough to be mistaken for the present and I must now choose whether to believe, in its' illusion © Ann Bagnall
November 14, 2025 at 7:54 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
I stand before the mirror and it looks back to me as though time itself is uncertain which version of me should appear I see the woman I was the one who waited beneath a waning moon believing distance could be crossed by hope I see the girl before her the one who loved without understanding that love is a creature unto itself and behind us all Venus shimmers in reverse her light sliding across the glass retrograde is the cosmos quietly mourning itself I press my hand to the mirror watching our fingers fail to meet my reflection smiles as if she knows I am only ever chasing what I’ve already lost I wonder which of us is the real illusion the one watching or the one still spinning backward through memories forever trapped in the orbit of things that glitter as they fall away © Ann Bagnall
November 14, 2025 at 7:53 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
The stars drift further away or so it seems to me Venus turns her face to the darkness a clever trick of the light an orbital deception, an illusion another word for the truths too painful to be revealed when she turns back to black I feel it deep in my bones like love reversing its course or petals slowly closing in the deep wounds of my heart you return to me in dreams and I relive every word, every whisper whether spoken or unspoken I aimlessly drift through constellations retracing our steps over and over remembering the first betrayal reflections are never the truth our eyes meet in the mirror still filled with questions we never, ever, asked aloud Venus glows dim and distant in her counterfeit motion but like you, I see her for what she is, a goddess pretending to retreat to remind us mortals that desire never really ends until love becomes memories and memories become another form of orbiting and Mercury is dancing backwards again, a messenger a thief, and an illusionist I remember things, I never lived like the scent of rain that never fell and there are truths I can only find when I retrace my own pathways I find your voice, still tender and still refusing to fade for love is retrograde my heart is forever catching up with the things I have already lost my mind replaying, repeating the same old memories always slightly altered you move through my dreams unspooling the memories that I have locked away re-delivering them to me so I read the pages of the past smudged with your inked intent old recollections rising from ashes old apologies resurrecting themselves every mirror gives false reflections and dreaming is just another word for haunting, and you have become the enabler of my resident ghosts I wait for the next retrograde motion the next celestial cycle the next trembling in the heavens knowing that when the sky turns and the past loosens its grip on what can no longer be changed you will rise again, epic in rewind and I will meet you there in the …
November 14, 2025 at 7:52 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Here, in the quiet hours all my secrets, all my fears are speaking to me their sibilant whispers persistent, relentless carving nightmares from all the nights that I once survived for some truths only reveal themselves when whispered by the darkness © Ann Bagnall
November 7, 2025 at 7:38 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
My heart is ever empty it is my cathedral filled with all the secrets and all the whispers that I cannot say out loud and the whispers of a life I have not yet lived and I stand in the silence listening to the words I don't want to remember © Ann Bagnall
November 7, 2025 at 7:35 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
We used to whisper softly to each other, I to you, you to I across the endless dark expanse between the ocean and the sky between the truth and the lies there were nights when my soul sat heavily in the hollow of my chest begging to be set free from that sweet captivity our trembling whispers drifted slowly like smoke after a fire lost at the edges of darkness saying nothing at all and everything all at once and in the ensuing silence a quiet despair rippled through me through my heart, my veins taking up permanent residence it settled into the marrow of my crumbling bones I had been living my life in a long stark winter storm no-one heard it, not even me but my heart was already broken and I started to understand that the silence had weight a density and a presence breathing an unspoken truth that I didn’t want to hear it is all now a distant memory but it keeps rising from its grave it is the ghost of all my hopes that treads ever so carefully through my new existence it is the echo of a different life that I once almost lived it keeps knocking on the door from the other side of reality and here in the darkness I feel it leaning into me just as the leaves whisper before descending into darkness or the last fragrant whispers of flowers left on a grave to wilt and fade in desolation the whispers of unfulfilled dreams still cannot be silenced the despair and the longing the endless ache in my heart can never ever be healed and although I close my eyes it still whispers in my ear and in the moment I know it’s not done with me yet © Ann Bagnall
November 7, 2025 at 7:33 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
I kneel before no altar no earth, no wind no fire, no water sometimes I tremble trying to recall a prayer that I no longer know how to say I used to worship the world through all my senses but I now crave the holiness of absence my body a fragile corporeal cathedral of decomposing flesh I just wish to become mist rising without being seen for my soul is a song and my bones are the cage of its’ haunting echoes still, I continue to wish that if freedom exists please let it be soft and gentle, like a breath and let it forgive my body for wanting to escape but never quite knowing how © Ann Bagnall
October 31, 2025 at 5:01 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Each morning I rebuild my corporeal self from dust and thoughts for I am so tired of constantly returning but the mirror reluctantly accepts me too tired to even pretend that I am complete there must be another way to inhabit my existence to finally be free from my cage of echoes if only I could unmake myself gently, reverently like removing a stitch from a sacred cloth perhaps I could become a space between the threads an invisible design that the pattern depends on for then I would know what it means to exist without being even seen like the invisible touch of the wandering wind © Ann Bagnall
October 31, 2025 at 4:58 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
I once believed my body was mine but now I know that I am just a vessel my skin stretched taut over the secret chambers of my bones and my memories and deep inside of me my heart murmurs its longing for something, even I don’t know if I breathe deeply enough and whisper often enough to the wind that circles wild and free it might catch a piece of me a brief moment of release from the heavy weight of my corporeal body from the endless pain of my crumbling bones and my own dark thoughts I empathise with the trees their deep roots are their shackles their falling leaves their only release I stand silent amongst them imagining my body as bark and my tears as leaves my soul weeping, for their tragic loss my lifeblood slowly rising like smoke into the air I have no outline, I have no shadow yet I can still touch everything I can see there are nights when I find my shadow sleeping beside me it’s slow exhales, mirroring mine I reach for it, and it stirs half wanting to awaken half wanting to retain its form for we are both exiles from the same body that has become too small for all that we carry the weight of our dreams a longing for silence, an ache to be seen I ask it, softly ‘where will we go when our light dies?’ and it answers ‘we were never light only the absence of light trying to remember what it felt like to be whole’ and so, together we rise through the soft ethers of the night not dying, but not alive just less defined, less human for fading is a freedom that we finally learned to love © Ann Bagnall
October 31, 2025 at 4:55 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
There is never an ending for love for afterward there are still words written in smaller type, scrawled in pencil on the backs of old receipts a date, a place, a promise never mailed I open the drawer of memories and find the scent of you lingering like incense in a ruined temple this is my vellichor, and I ache and I grieve, for what is already read and for everything that cannot be reread I turn each day over, like a page where your absence, stains the margins and time, does not erase the pain I live amongst the volumes of loss now the quiet curator of our shared mythology and if I close my eyes, I can still hear your voice as if you were reading it all again for the very first time, the book of us the brief exquisite volume, of being known I finally close the last chapter your name, soft as dust, upon my fingertips slowly the light turns to gold catching fragments of everything we were vellichor lingers, not just sorrow but also the sweetness, of knowing that I was once, beautifully read © Ann Bagnall
October 24, 2025 at 8:07 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
I used to think, I was unreadable a manuscript of unfinished thoughts a chaos of unbound metaphors but then you arrived, and for a time you were fluent in my silence you spoke my hidden syntax the tremors between breath and words the unwritten grammar of longing you read me aloud in the moonlight and I believed the story made sense but all stories eventually fade ink bleeds, pages become brittle you closed me mid-sentence and time, that relentless editor cut out whole paragraphs of us now, when I walk past bookshops I understand vellichor anew it is not about the books themselves but the readers, who left them behind it is about once being known and now left upon the shelf longing for someone, who remembers how the story goes © Ann Bagnall
October 24, 2025 at 8:06 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
There is a hush between us like the quiet aisle of a used bookstore where the lost souls of forgotten pages remember being gently touched dust motes are slowly rising and as I watch, my pulse slows to match the endless creaking of the old wooden floor long accustomed to ghosts this is my vellichor the scent of oft read books and the strange wistfulness of loss the endless yearning for someone that once knew how to read me and you, were that someone you could interpret my thoughts from my unspoken words and whispered aloud to me the well hidden footnotes you dog-eared my silences annotated my laughter left fingerprints in my margins but now I am wandering in the aisles of our memories searching for a copy of us that hasn’t yet, been underlined I pass over the other stories their covers all cracked and their titles blurred for none makes me feel the way that you always made me feel in a long, quiet, exhale of time the universe suddenly paused between one chapter, and the next and in that pause, I felt your ghost thumbing through the wreckage of me the way you once did, so long ago always so softly and deliberately as though you were afraid you might finally reach the last page © Ann Bagnall
October 24, 2025 at 8:05 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Beauty and joy dying and pain nothing left to grasp beneath a pale moon the night whispers low and sweet and speaks in silence of unattainable peace falling into the darkness circling ever downward into the waiting flames the ashes shroud the light now sorrow is calling eternal threads the flow of grace I feel the breath of endings © Ann Bagnall
October 17, 2025 at 7:53 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Softly shimmering wisps of mist shroud the distant moon I am alone here without you once again the sorrowful wind whispers its loneliness into the darkness a haunting serenade a song of sorrow that awakens in me a timeless ache I remember the time before that night of pain before the time of endings and I am weeping once again waiting for the silence to comfort me © Ann Bagnall
October 17, 2025 at 7:51 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
October 17, 2025 at 7:50 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
In the middle of the river where arches, once golden  are now twisted in silence the ancient bridges  slowly erased by time the ruinous, rampant rust  devouring their iron bones I still walk here some days imagining ghostly pilgrims travelling slowly across  the frail, porked, portal broken beyond repair tracing the fading graffiti  that tell the sad tales of long-lost lovers of promises broken whose hands, once joined slowly slipped apart all their hopes and dreams lost in the current below © Ann Bagnall
October 10, 2025 at 9:32 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Last night I dreamt of angels their wings broken their feathers snapped like brittle reeds their halos dimmed they were falling slowly not gracefully or intentionally but like glass, hurled against stone shattering into pieces forever broken beyond repair porked along with the sky  that was filled with cracks of thunder a dark empty vault where the stars were bleeding and the moon hung crooked I awoke trembling listening to my own heart long splintered by a loss  that I can never mend and yet it was still beating like defiance still standing in the wreckage of a dream © Ann Bagnall
October 10, 2025 at 9:31 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Everything whispers in its demise for all things are destined  to be broken cathedrals collapse into prayerless dust the statues of the saints emit sad, hollow echoes their halos fading but beneath the debris  wildflowers still grow their roots winding  through porked pavements reclaiming the ruins I kneel here alone the scent of flowers  softly circling me and I finally understand that being lost and broken is not always an ending but an opportunity  for a new life to begin © Ann Bagnall
October 10, 2025 at 9:28 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Some sacred things live between the pauses in the hush before dawn or in the tremble of a voice when everything is broken no scripture taught me this but that brief moment when I looked in the mirror and for once, I didn’t flinch the acceptance of my own breaking the choice to love again call it divine, call it grace call it the soul remembering itself for not all sacred things rise some simply endure without any explanation and that too, is holy © Ann Bagnall
October 3, 2025 at 9:20 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
I build shrines from wild violets and from sea glass because for me sacred is sometimes just the way the light dances with leaves or gently caresses the dark corners long abandoned illuminating for mere seconds a fleeting beauty not all sacred things are clad in gold not all holy things are held in temples built of stone some are quiet just a name whispered between breaths when sorrow strikes like lightning © Ann Bagnall
October 3, 2025 at 9:19 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
My scars are sacred and my wounds are holy carved deep within my skin I still carry them everywhere the proof of my survival we all have shadows that we cannot see easily broken but not easily healed each break I endured has become a rune my hope renewed by ancient spells spoken without sound I had asked for nothing but to be seen to be adored by eyes unafraid of the night but in time I learned your real intent I learned to name it in my silence and to never look away some part of you still lives in me where your memory still dares to hide but I now I hope and now I dream that your nightmares know my name I still feel you I know that you are out there still lingering in the dark and when the clouds obscure the moon it is not the darkness that reminds me but the understanding that light arrives gently, slowly in broken fragments yet whole in meaning each sorrowful memory a scripture of resilience I am no martyr I didn’t ask for pain but I turned it into something that now glows beneath my skin there is a temple inside me now built from everything that tried to break me but ultimately failed and although I am a quiet soul make no mistake my silence is sacred a choice, a vow for not everything that ever bleeds must be buried in the dark some wounds are meant to shine becoming cathedrals in our souls © Ann Bagnall
October 3, 2025 at 9:17 PM
annieb222.bsky.social
#BornBattleReady
Eyes glinting like glass something moves out of reach where even the light cannot illuminate its presence echoes, soft as the wind brush against my skin it remains un-named but in the moment I know it is you forever my guardian the night holds its breath as your unseen presence watches and waits at the edge of the dawn slowly fading into the shadows quiet and graceful in retreat once again the memory lost before it was ever found © Ann Bagnall
September 26, 2025 at 1:29 PM