A sound broke the silent air,  
sharper than any jagged stone.  
Tongues braced, a fire was born;  
shapes rose, carved not in bone.  

From breath, the first blade grew.  
Speech bled where fists withdrew.  
Peace stumbled, new on its feet.  
Words began what stones complete.

A spark, a glance, a whispered word,
A longing deep, a soul unstirred.
The everyday, the same old dance,
A love grown quiet, a fading chance.

But words like wine, a potent brew,
Can paint a world, exciting, new.
Of touch and taste, of skin on skin,
Where passion blooms, and lives within.

Not just a need, a simple claim,
But whispered secrets, a lover's game.
Desire unveiled, no longer shy,
A shared adventure, you and I.

The fire sleeps, it embers low,
****** whispers help it grow.
Imagination takes its flight,
And paints the darkness full of light.

So read aloud, let words take hold,
A story whispered, brave and bold.
For in that fire, rekindled bright,
A deeper passion finds its light.

In the hollow stretch of fading days,  
I reached for shadows, not your touch.  
The aching hours grew long, unkind,  
Beneath the weight, alone, I stood.  

And now you speak of turning back,  
The road eroded, trust dissolved.  
How dim the light you think I see,  
When all was night, and none was you.

Whisky warm and brown,
Poured gentle in my glass,
Not just to gulp it down.

A little buzz it brings,
A lighter, looser feel,
The way my spirit sings.

Ice clinks a chilly song,
Or neat, a fiery kiss,
Where I belong.

Just a sip or two,
That's all I really need,
To see the world anew.

So here’s to me
seriously.
Cheers.

Joy's a cunning, whispered charm,
A flicker bright, a vibrant arm.
Sadness, too, a subtle art,
A tapestry of aching heart.

The sea, it recedes, a whispered sigh,
Yet echoes linger, deep and nigh.
Present still, though gone from sight,
A phantom's grace, a moonlit night.

And in this gloom, a sunlit spark,
My spirit dances, though in dark.
Sadness's shadow, soft and deep,
Cannot steal the joy I keep.

The eyes, they slumber, still and meek,
No tears descend, no words they speak.
My sorrow's trace, a fading hue,
A whispered promise, me and you.

The heart, it beats, a steady drum,
Though whispers soft, the silence come.
A quiet strength, a whispered plea,
To find the light, eternally.

A whispered lie, a life undone,
You think you have won, the race is run. But seeds you sow, they take their hold, A debt of truth, a story told.

A loan you took, a stolen dream,
Returned it will, a bitter stream.
With interest high, the payment due,
The lie you spun, will come for you.

A mask you wear, for all to see,
A saint in light, but not so free.
A hypocrite, a deeper shame,
When words you preach, you cannot reclaim.

So search your soul, in quiet space,
The person true, behind the face.
Are deeds and words, a matching pair? Or shadows dance, where truth cannot bear.

Beneath her gaze, the heavens stir.  
Each syllable, a glowing ember’s blur.  
She weaves the wind with quiet grace,  
Carves poetry in the moon's embrace.  

A witch’s son, her craft I see
A rose blushes with her decree.  
Her whispers, soft as dawn’s first light,  
Transform the stars to flames of night.

I slept beneath a murmuring tree,
the breath of wind like whispered song
when from the dusky thicket near
a dove broke forth in sorrowed tongue.
Its coo, a tremble made of light,
a flame of grief in feathered white,
did pierce the veil of slumber’s shroud
and stir my heart to waking loud.
O! Sweet-winged ghost of aching skies,
you summoned tears from sealed eyes,
and sang of loves I once had known,
and all the souls I’d called my own.
How far I’d strayed from spirit’s call,
how deep the hush, how slow the fall
but in your cry, celestial dove,
I heard again the voice of love.
So let me weep and wake anew,
beneath the sky’s immortal blue,
and bless the winds, the wings, the morn,
where grief and beauty are reborn.

They pour water on the white goat’s head,
pretending it nods in consent
before the priest opens its throat,
clean as a hymn.

But me
I am stripped of ritual.
No water, no priest,
no crowd to sanctify my undoing.

My altar is a quiet room.
My prayer, a broken promise
that falls back into my face like ash.

Only a rusty knife,
and the tender cruelty
of a trusted hand
pressing the blade
to where my breath
still trembles.

The white shirt whispers secrets low,
Of curves and shadows, soft aglow.
A hint of blush, a tender plea,
For lips to find what eyes can't see.

Red paint upon a whispered vow,
Invites a touch, right here and now.
A promise held in crimson bright,
A burning ember in the night.

Dark lines frame a gaze so deep,
A siren's call that lulls to sleep.
A hunger stirs, a wicked game,
Where souls are lost and hearts aflame.

No words exist to paint the sight,
Of fabric clinging, dark and tight.
A silent language, bold and bare,
A challenge whispered on the air.

Her voice, a flame that dances high,
Demands surrender, makes you sigh.
A circus trick, a burning grace,
Leaving ashes in its place.

I knelt, compelled by burning need,
To beg for pain, to plant the seed.
No choice, perhaps, or maybe yes,
To taste the fire, to confess.

I was born of soil, raised by sun,
and still, I love like a farmer does
with hands that plant, with hope that waits,
watering love in rosewater grace,
shading it beneath the aching heart.

But the harvest came too young, too bright
too soft to bear the fire of time.
And yesterday, it vanished
no grain to hold,
no word, no gold, no compensation.

You say you love me
yet the question lingers like incense in a ruined temple.
Tell me, why, oh why?

I carved your name into the bark of an ageless tree,
and the tree whispered it to the winds of eternity.
You traced mine upon a passing shore,
and the tide erased me before the gulls had seen.

The rains fall, bearing stories wounded by time;
your name glimmers through their tears,
while mine dissolves into silence.

I spoke of you to neighbors,
and their lamps burned brighter.
You spoke of me to water,
and the river carried me away.

At night, beneath the hidden star,
they gathered to tell your story.
My shadow passed among them,
but no one called my name.

I held the rose you gave me,
pressed it into scripture,
hid it beneath my pillow as though it were prayer.
I gave you a vessel to hold my soul,
and you let it shatter into dust.

And still you say:
“I love you beyond all speech.”

If love is so vast,
why do I stand nameless at its gate?
Why do you love me?
Tell me, why, oh why?

How can one breathe without you?  
The stars dim, the world falls still.  
A dreamless void where love once burned, Each step heavier than the last.  

Nadoush, I call, though silence stays.  
God, mend the paths we cannot see.  
A love unbroken, though time denies.  
I love you, always endlessly.

Who quenched the light in the eyes of the seeing,
and taught him that trust is a blade
that turns upon its bearer.

He who now seals his heart
was once a house with open doors to every wanderer,
until he gave them sight
and they repaid him with blindness.

May the darkness they planted in him
take root and choke them,
and may the spirits cry their names
through a night that shall never know dawn.

Aman

I learned his rhythm, step-for-step, To break no bond, to earn respect. Behind, he flees-an untamed ghost, Ahead, he strikes, his guard engrossed.

Beside, we tread the timbered lane, Two hearts entwined in wild refrain. No master, leash, nor tethered guide, Just wolf and I, the woods abide.

Not a girl
but a woman,
where flowers burn,
where chocolate melts
into velvet dreams.

A woman
that is what I knew,
her secret pages
calling my fingers to scroll,
each word a hidden chamber,
each sigh a locked door.

Hiding mysteries,
she is the one I ache for,
the one my longing
chants its name to.

May carry truth or deception,
but silence alone keeps the truth untouched
The truth is untouched.

To be distant is a gilded key,  
Unlocking hearts cloaked in memory.  
Presence fades when its weight is sly,  
An empty face beneath the sky.  

Absence burns, but it carves a glow,  
A shadowed ache the soul will know.  
Worthless nearness dims the flame,  
But absence crowns love with a name.

I just want yesterday.
Did not I cry your name
on your naked *******,
did not I swear my love
between the tremor of your skin?

How many times
do you remember?

I just want yesterday,
when my soul was dancing
with your love,
when the night itself
was softer than your breath.

But today,
you are not my problem anymore,
not my burden,
not my ache to carry through sleepless nights.

Words I never thought
I would write,
never thought I would taste
on my own tongue
yet here they are,
cut clean across the page.

Thank you
for proving me wrong
one last time.

Yesterday was yours.
Tomorrow is mine.

He entered the stable of kings,
thinking the nearness of the throne would crown him.
He wore the saddle of glory,
and tasted the grain of another’s destiny.

But the soul cannot be tricked by garments,
nor the heart by walls.
Essence breaks through every mask.

So when he opened his mouth,
the sound that leapt forth was not praise,
nor hymn, nor neigh of majesty
it was the cry of his own nature,
a bray echoing the secret:
“You are what you are.”