The quiet heart is softly mended.  
A breeze whispers, the soul extended.  
Each moment bends, a gentle prayer.  
In stillness, I find answers there.  

Peace hums within the fleeting hours,  
A garden tucked with hidden flowers.  
No noise, no clamor, walls recede
Solitude fills the only need.

At six, her eyes lit like dawn,  
We laughed, the schoolyard carried on.  
Hands met in secret, hearts untied,  
In whispers where no fears could hide.  
Years pass, yet her name still sings,  
A golden thread on memory’s wings.  
Though loves since then may come and fade,  
That first small flame will never jade.

The palm unfolds, a story told,
Of lines etched deep, a tale untold.
No woman fairer, grace divine,
Yet shadowed by a subtle sign.

A rose's scent, a phantom's plea,
Escapes your grasp, a mystery.
A book's embrace, a silent plea,
Unreadable, a void you see.

You, a... what word to capture you?
A paradox, both dark and true.
A beauty veiled, a hidden art,
A fragile bloom, a wounded heart.

The lines diverge, a shadowed maze,
Where hidden truths and sorrows blaze.
A whispered vow, a silent tear,
A destiny both near and clear.

Perhaps the fault lies not within,
But in the world's unyielding din.
A fragrance lost, a book unread,
A soul unseen, a truth unsaid.

Or is it you, with eyes so deep,
Whose gaze the world cannot keep?
A captive heart, a silent plea,
Awaiting someone, just for thee.

He walks in the rain, his thoughts astray,
Past shadowed faces that drift away.
A part of him was lost tonight,
The place where his world once felt right.

Steps echo soft on empty ground,
The rain a dirge, a mournful sound.
Home should cradle, a gentle release
Yet storms within will not find peace.

Three hours past the midnight bell,
He stumbled on the road, and fell.
Sweet wine had wrapped him in a haze,
Lost in the moon’s pale silver rays.

A light, a voice, a sharp command
A stranger’s torch, a stern demand:
“What brings you here at night so late?
Where is your home, what is your fate?”

He raised his gaze through weary eyes,
Beneath the dark and starlit skies.

“Sir,” he sighed, his voice half-bled,
“If I knew that, I’d be in bed.

I’d rest in peace, where dreams run free,
Not drifting here, but home, where me
Would lie in quiet, safe and sound,
On gentle shores, on solid ground.”

Still the rain falls, cold and true,
Washing the world of all he knew.

Kings Cross, where city lights ignite,
Once home to wild and painted dreams,
Now whispers songs through neon gleams,
A vibrant pulse in fading night.

Two paths divide the busy street:
One flashes bright with coins and fire,
A burning urge, a strong desire,
Where eager hurried footsteps meet.

The other, dim and hushed and low,
Where weary faces find their space,
To shed their burdens, slow their pace,
And let their heavier feelings go.

That quiet, second road I chose,
Away from glitter, loud and bold,
A different story to unfold,
Where inner stillness gently grows.

Then from the corner's deepest shade,
A whisper breathed my very name:
"Why did your spirit shun my claim?
Why did your heart become unswayed?"

My voice, a fragile, trembling sound,
Replied, "My Lord put a small light there.
No grand display, no worldly share,
That inner gleam helps me feel sound."

The shadow asked again, with sigh,
"Then tell me, why are you still here?"

I answered, "Just to make it clear,
To check my path against the sky."

The shadow wept, a gentle plea,
Then whispered soft, "You walk the truth,"
And vanished from my gaze, forsooth,
Leaving the quiet night to me.

Yet fear still tapped within my chest,
As I turned from that tempting lane,
And walked where peace begins again,
Towards a path of certain rest.

For those whose faith holds strong and true,
The gifts the Lord has given free,
Already calm the heart, you see,
For this brief life, fresh and new.

A tiny hand lies cold in mine,
Too small, too still, no longer thine.
A silent room, a broken toy,
Where echoes haunt of stolen joy.

No breath, no laugh, no sleepy sigh,
Just hollow air, and tear-stained eye.

A howl of anguish splits the night,
A wounded soul bereft of light.
A broken prayer, a fractured word,
The silence answers, nothing heard.

The world collapses to this form,
A raging sea, a silent storm.
My heart, a drum that beats and breaks,
For every promise it can’t make.

A cry to heaven, raw and wild,
The desperate voice of father, child.
A question flung to merciless skies:
Why must the innocent close their eyes?

A father’s scream, a primal sound,
Where love and grief are iron-bound.
A soul undone, a spirit cleft,
A war already lost… to death.

Banners rise yet make no sound,  
Strength is where the calm is found.  
Deeds, not cries, define the fight,  
Truth stands tall in quiet light.  

Words dissolve like fleeting mist,  
Victory's voice cannot be missed.  
Action breathes where echoes die,  
Unheard heights reach the endless sky.