In silence vast, where nothing stirred,
No breath, no flame, no voice was heard—
The void lay still, a sleeping sea,
Until the birth of energy.

A spark ignites—a blinding start,
From chaos, stars are torn apart.
In stellar wombs, the elements born,
From fire, from ice, from cosmic storm.

The galaxies in spiral dance,
By gravity and fate’s romance.
A pale blue dot begins to spin,
And life’s long tale is tucked within.

The oceans swell with primal heat,
Where lightning's kiss and chemicals meet.
In shadowed pools, life lifts its head,
A single cell that stirs the dead.

Through ages slow, the world takes shape,
From fins to wings, from ape to ape.
The forests rise, the deserts spread,
The ice retreats, then comes again.

With fire and tools, the humans rise,
They shape the world, they reach the skies.
They carve in stone, they write in light,
They dream in code, they launch the night.

But with each step, the question grows—
From where we came, and where we go?
The stars still burn, the oceans call,
And time still watches over all.

So here we stand, both beast and sage,
A fleeting spark on nature’s stage.
The world evolved, and so must we—
To guard, to grow, to let life be.

I woke to rooms where voices slept,
No laughter left where joy once wept.
The chairs still stood, the shoes were lined,
But all the souls, they’d left behind.

A stillness deeper than the grave,
A silence I could never brave.
Their shadows clung to walls and doors,
Like echoes on forgotten shores.

I called their names, the air stood still,
The grief, a ghost I couldn’t ****.
Their cups untouched, their beds not made,
The sun rose slow, then quickly faded.

How strange the world, to keep on turning,
While every part of me is burning.
The air too full of things unsaid,
The weight of all the living dead.

No final word, no last goodbye,
Just sudden space beneath the sky.
And in this house, both full and hollow,
I learn that grief is mine to swallow.

But even now, their love remains—
In photographs, in dreams, in rain.
They left, but I still see them near,
In memory sharp, in every tear.

They say that love’s a gentle flame,
A light that never dies.
But sometimes love will whisper lies,
And hide behind goodbyes.

It starts so soft, a sweet delight,
A glance, a touch, a spark—
But slowly turns to sleepless nights,
And hearts left in the dark.

You give your soul, you bare your chest,
You dream with eyes wide shut.
But love can take and never rest,
And leave your spirit cut.

The laughter fades, the silence grows,
You feel you're not enough.
And every word, once wrapped in rose,
Now sounds so sharp and rough.

You miss them when they're standing near,
You cry with no real cause.
You smile while drowning in your fear,
And ache without a pause.

Love isn’t always soft and kind,
It breaks, it bleeds, it bends.
It digs its roots into your mind,
Then leaves you in the end.

So yes, love shines, but it can burn—
And turn your skies to gray.
A gift, a curse, a twist, a turn—
That sometimes steals the day.

Beyond the veil of worldly pain, Where hearts no longer break in vain, There lies a land so pure, so wide— Where joy and peace forever bide.  No sorrow there, no aching soul, No time that strips or age that stole. Just gardens green with endless shade, Where every longing’s gently laid.  The rivers flow with milk and wine, As pure as pearls in perfect line. Sweet scents arise from musk and rose, In breezes soft where mercy blows.  The trees bend low with fruit so near, No toil, no grief, no cry, no fear. And every step, a light, a song, Where angels welcome all along.  No night shall fall, no sun shall burn, Just radiant peace at every turn. With robes of silk and cups of gold, And stories of the truth retold.  The faces shine with joy so bright, Reflected in the Throne’s own light. And best of all, above all bliss— The gaze upon the One we miss.  To see the Lord, the Most Divine, No veil, no barrier, no sign. Just closeness deep, a love so wide— Forever near, with none to hide.  So strive today with heart and prayer, With patient soul and humble care. For what awaits is worth the pain— A home where none shall weep again.

Beneath the dawn of a summer sky,
Where children laughed and kites would fly,
A sudden flash, a blinding light,
Turned day to dark, and wrong from right.

In Hiroshima's gentle fold,
The air grew hot, the silence cold.
A fire fell from heaven’s gate,
And stitched the thread of human fate.

Steel and flame consumed the air,
As shadows burned to walls laid bare.
The rivers wept, the mountains sighed,
And countless dreams in silence died.

Then Nagasaki met the same,
Another spark, another flame.
The morning bloomed with death again—
A flower forged in endless pain.

But from the ash and twisted steel,
The world was forced at last to feel—
Not just the might that man could wield,
But hearts that broke and wounds unhealed.

So hear the whispers of the land,
The ghosts that reach with outstretched hand.
"Let not our fate be born anew,
In flames that fall from skies so blue."

May peace not be a fragile thread,
Stitched only when too much is dead.
But rather grown in every heart—
A vow that never shall depart.

In the quiet dawn, friendship blooms anew,  
A spark of trust, a bond so true.  
Yet, shadows lurk behind bright eyes,  
A whispered word, a subtle lie.  

Like autumn leaves, it falls so fast,  
A fleeting moment, gone at last.  
What once was woven tight and strong,  
Can unravel in a silent song.  

A single breath, a careless deed,  
Can plant the seeds of silent creed.  
And in the blink of an eye,  
Friendship fades, a soft goodbye.  

Hold tight, for wounds can heal or sever,  
Friendships fragile, lost forever.  
Cherish the moments, hold them near—  
For fast they fade, and disappear.

Smoke rolls in like mourning veils,
Darkening skies with ashen tales,
Chimneys weep their final breath—
A lullaby composed by death.

The steeple cracks, its bell unswung,
No choir left to sing the young.
Shutters blink with embered eyes,
As silence swallows fleeing cries.

The cobbled streets, once full of cheer,
Now echo steps of smoke and fear.
Shadows dance in orange bloom,
Choking life in every room.

A cradle scorched, a picture charred,
A garden turned to blackened yard.
Hope melts down in rivulets,
Carried where the flame forgets.

Yet through the ash, a whisper stirs—
A child’s hand, the past recurs.
For even towns that blaze and fall
Leave ghost-lights glowing in their call.

The burning town may fade from maps,
But hearts still beat in fire’s gaps.
And from the soot, if skies allow,
A phoenix dreams—rebirth, somehow.