Ink must flow in lines,
metered, measured, high-minded
else it is not art.

They sneer at free verse,
counting feet like prison bars,
locking out the wild.

Rhyme too clean? Too trite.
Rhyme too loose? Unrefined slop.
Gold melts in their hands.

Ancient names they quote,
wielding rules like brittle swords
paper cuts still sting.

Silence when they read,
hushed as if the gods had penned
what they claim to own.  

Yet wind speaks in gusts,
rivers carve new paths through stone
poetry is free.

I do not write to carve my name in stone,
nor sing for echoes in a crowded hall.
I let the melodies guide me alone,
not chasing gold—just heeding music’s call.
The rise and fall, the pulse, the breath, the sound,
the way a chord can lift or break a heart,
the way a note can wrap the soul around—
that’s why I sing, that’s why I play my part.

I paint not to be Michelangelo,
nor sculpt a legacy in strokes and hue.
I love the way the colors ebb and flow,
how crimson bleeds into the ocean blue.
The way the brush moves freely on the page,
unchained, unbound, without a master's plan,
each splash, each stroke, defying gilded cage—
art is not owned, nor shaped by any hand.

I do not write so history may know
my name, my voice, my carefully placed rhyme.
I love the way the words leap, spin, and flow,
untamed by rules, unshackled by the time.
They dance, they drift, they whisper, they collide,
unruly specters with no paths to trace.
They do not beg for praise or stand with pride—
they simply are, existing in their place.

This is what art is: raw, alive, and true,
not stitched to fame, nor meant to outshine men.
Not meant to stand atop the grandest view,
nor seek to rise by making others dim.
It is the voice that speaks without a crown,
the light that glows without demanding eyes.
And if another finds my work profound,
that’s extra—but it never was the prize.

If you knew the hourglass had cracked,
and every grain was sliding fast,
would you sit and watch it empty,
or flip it over, make time last?

Would you call the ones who left you,
just to mend what once was torn?
Or leave the past like shattered mirrors,
reflecting ghosts that feel unborn?

Would you chase the distant skyline,
feet on fire, lungs alive?
Or breathe in slow, just hold the moment,
watch the sun dissolve and thrive?

Would you stand upon a mountain,
feel the earth beneath your weight?
Or walk the streets you’ve always known,
before they whisper you too late?

Would you spend it making laughter,
dancing reckless in the rain?
Or write your name in ink and blood,
so something of you might remain?

Would you teach your children wisdom,
leave them lessons carved in stone?
Or hold them close and say much less,
let love be felt and not just known?

Would you dare confess the secrets,
that you’ve buried, deep and raw?
Or take them with you, locked inside,
a vault no living soul can draw?

Would you fight to stretch the seconds,
bargain hard to stay alive?
Or bow your head and face the darkness,
knowing all things must arrive?

If tomorrow lost its promise,
and the road turned thin and steep,
would you run, or would you rest?
Would you wake, or would you sleep?

Winds howl through my ears
empty voices, empty rules,
dust beneath my feet.

Stars burn, mountains fall,
yet still they beg me to care.
I just light my smoke.

Hear me not, yet feel my breath,
A susurrus etched in ebon shale.
What lingers whispers not of death,
But wraith-song borne on ashen gale.

The oculus is veiled in dust,
The portal gapes, the vow untrue.
Where halls resound with vacant trust,
The dawn distorts, the dusk imbues.

Their sigil scorned, their tale unscrolled,
Yet dunes consume the steps they laid.
The firmament withdraws its hold,
The zephyrs parch, the rivers fade.

Those who wander, sight unblessed,
Shall tread where embered tongues entwine.
No benison to break their rest,
But ossuary rites divine.

The balance tilts, the judgment wends,
Anubis veers, the soul unmoored.
Bound in dust, where silence bends,
Their final dirge remains assured.

Flesh is a threshold, spirit a lure,
Reft of the tithe the dead bequeath.
Let cindered runes in soot endure,
And waken that which dwells beneath.

The shade in vapor, the wraith in brine,
A vestige veiled in void’s embrace.
Ereshkigal, in requiem shrine,
Release the one who waits in place.

Shroud them in umbra, tether them deep,
What stirs in stillness must not rise.
By fractured spire and oath to keep,
Let what was sealed now blind its eyes.

Yet egress wanes, and pyres expire,
What walks must dwindle, what calls must bind.
A whisper lost, a rite conspired,
The gyre undone, the fates entwined.

Flesh is a sepulcher, spirit the key,
Seal what has drifted, what yet remains.
So I murmur, so let it be,
The veil is fallen, none speak the name.

When looking at each moment in life ,
I am thankful for every breath, every ache, every fall,
For hands that shake, for lips that bleed, for eyes that burn,
For voices screaming, whispers breaking, silence speaking loud,
For love that scars, for hate that fuels, for pain that shapes,
For nights alone, for days unknown, for fear’s embrace,
For light, for dark, for shadows waiting,
For rage, for peace,
For fire,
For life.

Life is
A storm,
A fleeting touch,
A whispered name,
A war of longing,
A wound that heals,
A hunger never truly filled,
A poem I’ll never write enough,
A song too short to hold the depth of loss,
A heart too fragile to bear the weight of joy.

It is fleeting,
sorrow lingers,
hands are reaching,
Fingers trembling,
Eyes are weeping,
Heart is breaking,
Blood is spilling,
Each day awaking,
Until none.

Love,
Hate,
Fear,
Hope,
Dreams.

I am thankful for every color, every shade, every scar, every touch,
For the weight of silence, the sting of words, the taste of grief, the scent of longing,
For the art I create in my brokenness, the songs I hum through my pain,
For the echoes of those I’ve lost, the ghosts that still whisper my name,
For the ones who stayed, the ones who left, the ones who return in dreams,
For the fire in my chest, the ice in my veins, the storm in my head,
For the love that consumes, the rage that ignites, the wounds that still burn,
For the fragile embrace of a moment too fleeting to hold forever,
For the knowledge that nothing lasts but everything matters,
For the simple fact that I am here.

Here,
Now,
Always,
In this moment.

I taste the air, feel the weight of hunger and fullness,
Hold the warmth of hands,
See the light shift,
Walk through pain,
Remember I Must,
Breathe.

I,
Live,
Love,
Hurt,
Heal.

I am thankful for every second, every wound, every gift, every loss, every love, every hate, every whisper, every scream, every sunrise, every night that doesn’t end,
For the aching in my bones, the rhythm in my chest, the melody that plays when I close my eyes,
For the ink that stains my fingers, the paint that colors my skin, the words that shape my soul,
For the ones who walk beside me, the ones who left footprints, the ones I’ve never met but still feel,
For the taste of rain, the scent of earth, the way shadows stretch and shrink,
For the silence before the storm, the calm after, the moment in between,
For the love I can’t explain, the hate I can’t erase, the fire I refuse to extinguish,
For the weight of knowing, the freedom of forgetting, the beauty of beginning again,
For the scars that remind me I survived,
For the truth that even pain is a gift,
Looks fade away,
For all.

The Gift,
The Burden,
A Blessing,
The Curse,
Our Fate,
To Choose,
Light,
Dark,
Everything,
Nothing.

Nothing is,
Everything
Everything is
Nothing
Dark is light
Light is
Dark
Choice is how we see things
Everything,
Fate the question,
Procrastination the Curse,
Each day the Blessing,
Memory the Burden,
Or
Gift,
That's for us to decide .

Time moves forward, memory lingers, love stays,
Pain whispers,
Dreams return,
I exist,
Always,
Even when I don't.

Silence dusk hums, echoing light,
Blackened roots drink falling stars.
Sifting Hollow winds carve breathless verses,
Drifting feathers trace lost names.
Trust unspools in silver spirals,
Dusk and dawn in fibres unseen.

Unseen, fibres in dawn and dusk,
Spirals silver in unspools trust  
Names lost trace feathers drifting,
Verses breathless carve winds hollow sifting.
Stars falling drink roots blackened,
Light echoing hums, silence.

Verses return where whispers lie silent,
Time bends beneath the breath of dusk.
Blackened hands shape rivers of light,
Drifting memories burn into spirals.
Hollow eyes watch the nameless stars,
Unseen echoes whisper long-lost names.

Names long-lost whisper echoes unseen,
Stars nameless watch the eyes so hollow.
Spirals burn into memories drifting,
Light rivers shape hands blackened.
Dusk of breath the beneath bends time,
Silent lie whispers where return verses.

Stars dissolve, unchained from time,
Unseen hands thread silver spirals.
Dusk and dawn reflect through light,
Hollow songs carve sorrowed verses.
Drifting shades unmake their names,
Silent wings unfurl through roots blackened.

Blackened roots through unfurl wings silent,
Names their unmake shades drifting.
Verses sorrowed carve songs hollow,
Light through reflect dawn and dusk.
Spirals silver thread hands unseen,
Time from unchained stars dissolving.

Dissolving stars, unchained from time,
Unseen hands thread silver spirals.
Dusk and dawn reflect through light,
Hollow songs carve sorrowed verses.
Drifting shades unmake their names,
Silent wings unfurl through roots blackened