Irreversible Separation

By Al Konda

The room remained, yet lines no longer bent

Toward any point they once had seemed to share;

Each path still moved, but not as once it went,

And did not turn toward what was once held there.

 

We moved as though no path returned to meet,

No turn described a curve that closed the span;

Each step went on, yet never fully met,

And held its line beyond the course it ran.

 

No change appeared to alter what remained,

No sign arose to question where it led;

The space held firm, yet never once regained

What moved apart and did not turn or bend.

 

It did not close, nor open to restore—

Each path continued, separate, evermore.

When return is no longer part of the structure

There are moments when movement continues—

but return no longer exists.

Not because something refuses.

Not because something resists.

But because the structure no longer allows it.

Each path proceeds.

Each line extends.

And nothing turns back.

There is no moment of decision.

No visible break.

Only a condition in which direction no longer includes reversal.

The space remains.

The motion continues.

But what once could align

no longer can.

And in that state, there is no tension.

No distance to measure.

No loss to account for.

Only continuation—

without return.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube: https://youtu.be/QxCajEY7TAo

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© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite

 

Directional Drift

By Al Konda

The room remained, yet lines began to spread,

No longer held within a single course;

Each path still moved, though not where once it led,

And turned apart without a change of force.

 

We moved as though the way no longer met,

No turn returned to meet another line;

Each step went on, and did not intersect,

But held its course in calm, untroubled time.

 

No shift appeared to mark a loss or gain,

No sign arose to name what had grown;

The space remained, yet did not hold the same,

Though all continued as it had begun.

 

It moved apart, and did not turn or stay,

Each path proceeding in its separate way.

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When movement no longer follows the same direction

There are moments when movement continues—

but not in the same direction.

Nothing breaks.

Nothing resists.

Nothing announces the change.

And yet, what once moved along the same course

begins to turn.

Not sharply.

Not visibly at first.

But enough that alignment no longer holds.

Each path continues.

Each step proceeds.

But what once followed the same direction

now traces a different line.

No force causes it.

No decision marks it.

It simply occurs—

as movement takes on its own direction.

And from that point on, what continues

does so apart.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube: https://youtu.be/2HVAznkTPks

---

© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite

Subtle Divergence

By Al Konda

 

The room remained, yet something turned aside,

No step aligned in quite the way it had;

Each path still moved, though not in equal stride,

And held a course no longer quite as matched.

 

Yet every line described the same slow arc,

Though measured now against a different rule;

The angles held, yet turned about their mark,

And traced a form no longer fully true.

 

No shift declared itself as loss or gain,

No sign arose to name what had begun;

The space remained, yet did not hold the same,

Though all continued as it had been done.

 

It did not break, nor move to come apart—

Yet difference held within a single part.

---

When difference does not declare itself

There are moments when nothing appears to change.

The structure remains.

The motion continues.

Everything proceeds as it has.

And yet—something is no longer identical.

Not enough to be named.

Not enough to be measured.

But enough to exist.

Each path still follows its course.

Each movement still holds its form.

But what once aligned now carries a slight difference—

not in direction,

not in distance,

but in the rule that governs it.

Nothing breaks.

Nothing separates.

Nothing calls attention to itself.

And still, what continues is no longer the same.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube: https://youtu.be/tTrZ6b7kFSs

---

© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite

 Parallel Motion

By Al Konda

When movement no longer meets

There are moments when movement continues—but nothing connects.

Not because something resists.

Not because something breaks.

But because each path proceeds entirely on its own.

The space remains.

The structure remains.

But nothing crosses.

Each step follows its own direction.

Each motion holds its own course.

No pattern binds them.

No return brings them together.

They exist within the same field—

but not within the same relation.

And in that condition, there is no tension.

No distance to measure.

No loss to account for.

Only movement—

perfectly parallel,

perfectly separate,

perfectly sustained.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube:  https://youtu.be/QKrkRLSEiKc

---

© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite

Nothing Held Between

By Al Konda

The room remained, yet nothing held between.

The chairs stood where what once was shared had been;

No line was drawn, yet something stood unseen,

And kept apart what once had settled there.

We spoke as if the air required no more,

No word returned to where it once had been.

Each answer came, then stopped before the core,

And left its weight where nothing else came in.

We sat as though the distance claimed its place,

No motion crossed the space it once had known.

The room remained, but wore a different face—

And carried on as it had carried on.

It stayed between us, asking nothing more,

And left us standing where we had never stood before.

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When distance becomes the way things are

There are moments when nothing holds between two people.

Not because something broke.

Not because something failed.

But because nothing remains to be held.

The space does not resist.

It does not ask.

It does not change.

It simply exists as it is.

Words still come.

Movements still happen.

The room still remains.

But nothing passes through.

Nothing connects.

Nothing stays between.

And in that condition, there is no tension.

No attempt to repair.

No expectation of return.

Only distance—

not as absence,

but as the way things are.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube: https://youtu.be/K0OUaQN25jw

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© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite

The Room Remained

By Al Konda

The room remained, but held a different weight,

No line moved back to where it once had been;

The space no longer asked us to relate,

Yet kept the shape of what we stood within.

We moved as though the change had always stayed,

No word returned to question what was set;

Each gesture formed, but something in it weighed,

And held it back from what it once had met.

We stood within what neither moved to mend,

No part returned to what it once had been;

The space held firm, though nothing chose to end,

And kept apart what once had joined within.

It kept its weight, and kept it as it was—

And left it so, and left it as it was.

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When nothing returns

There are moments after change has already taken place.

Not the moment of fracture.

Not the moment of realization.

But what follows.

Nothing moves back.

Nothing corrects itself.

The space remains exactly as it is.

What once flowed freely now holds.

Not because something resists.

But because nothing restores.

You move within it.

You speak within it.

You continue.

But something in every action carries a slight weight—

a quiet difference that does not ask to be noticed.

There is no attempt to repair.

No visible break.

Only a condition that has settled.

And in that condition, everything remains.

🎬 Watch it on YouTube: https://youtu.be/kZf-PEs5_Fw

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© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite