Take me home
not to walls, windows or broken doors,
but to the quiet room inside my ribs
where I once knew peace.

Take me where my breath
is not an apology,
where I can lay down my name,
my masks,
my borrowed sorrows.

Let me return to the place
before desire learned my face,
before fear built its fences
around the child of light I was.

Take me to that soft, unguarded place
the soul’s first country,
where I am whole again,
and the world cannot touch me.

Take me home,
to the beginning that never ended,
to the belonging that needs no proof.
There
I will rest in the arms of my own being.

The flame-fed heart bends to shadow's will, each beat surrendered to fleeting thrill. Yet patient hearts, in still winds they rise, their unseen kingdom vast as the skies.  

Desire’s dust clings to hurried feet,  
while waiting crafts thrones in silence sweet. What’s grasped in haste slips through the hand, but time grants power to those who stand.

Coffee grounds cling to porcelain
like sweat to skin,
a map of brown scars and bitter veins.

She bends above it, breath warm,
reading the cup as she would a lover’s body:
a road etched deep,
a soldier’s chest,
a wound that refuses to close.

A heart appears, then splits,
and her sigh is both prayer and hunger:
“Love arrives with teeth,
and always leaves its bite.”

The rim blossoms into thorns,
a crown pressed to bleeding temples.
“He gave his body for faith,” she whispers,
“as we give ours for desire
burning, surrendering, divine.”

Shadows whirl in the dregs,
a storm of mouths and eyes.
“You will fight for each kiss,
weep after each embrace.
Every face you touch will vanish
a flame in your hand,
a name dissolving on your tongue.”

And at the end, the silence:
the body broken,
the step weary,
the crown fallen.

“The king is defeated,” she breathes,
but her eyes linger,
hungry still,
on the ashes where his fire burned.

“The fool laughs—he picked his lover like a drink at closing time, and now wonders why the hangover won't end.”

“I chose with my pulse instead of my brain; now I pay rent to my own mistakes.”

“Love is a bad investment, and I’m the idiot who signed the contract in blood.”

“The fool laughs—because crying would only remind him he married his heartbreak.”

Bend, though the winds are harsh.  
Carry the stones you did not make.  
Silent the heart, though it rages long.  
Life demands a surrender, bitter ache.  

Each root grows where it is pressed.  
Each star rests where the sky commands. To yield is life's whispered bitter creed. To stand, though not on chosen lands.

In the realm where senses softly play,
Lies a scent that whispers in the night,
A fragrance that in memory stays,
A woman's essence, pure and bright.

It's a blend of jasmine, rose, and grace,
A symphony of nature's finest art,
A perfume that time cannot erase,
A scent of a woman, from head to heart.

It lingers in the air, a gentle breeze,
A touch of elegance, a hint of allure,
A fragrance that whispers secrets, it seems,
A scent of a woman, forever pure.

Yesterday I worried about everything,
In shadows cast, my mind was in a bind,
Each thought a chain, each fear a ring,
A labyrinth of doubts, where peace did find.

Today I want to sing like the birds,
Unfettered notes that dance on the breeze,
Not worrying who hears me or what they think,
In freedom's embrace, my soul finds peace.

No longer bound by yesterday's fears,
I soar above the clouds, my spirit clear,
In the melody of life, I find my cheer,
A song of joy, untainted, sincere.