The cigarette burns,
whiskey half-empty,
I stare at the ceiling—
my body frozen,
like time itself has died.

Maybe if I stare long enough,
you’ll walk through that door,
say, “It’s not your fault,”
and we’ll hug,
but the silence cuts through,
and you’re already gone.

Maybe I should have kept quiet,
my words too heavy for you to bear.
Your foot told me so,
and your hands agreed,
gripping the wheel,
not steering,
but letting go.

I wish I could wipe your tears,
hold your shattered heart
and stop the screaming,
but it’s too late.

So you accelerate,
and I’m left in this stillness,
a wreck that never crashed.

I return a hero,
but the victory
is buried in my skin—
cold sweat,
thick as blood,
as a grave.

3:47 AM,
The door creaks open,
the old hinges groaning—
boots pounding closer,
each step like a drumbeat,
bringing a cold shiver
that claws down my spine.

Then—
silence.

A scream cuts the night,
the daughter,
the mother,
they want me—
drag me back
to that blood-soaked hell,
where nothing survives,
where life is torn apart.

Warplanes split the sky,
tanks rumble in my chest—
the taste of rust,
the heat of gunfire,
the smell of flesh burning,
of metal tearing through bone.

l open my eyes,
and I'm surrounded—
the bodies of my brothers,
their faces smashed into the earth,
eyes wide,
mouths frozen in screams.
The stench is choking,
the blood thick,
pooling like a dark sea around us.

The Nazis—
they don't stop—
shooting the fallen
to make sure no one rises.
I feel the shot in my gut,
but I'm still here—
I wait my turn.

I close my eyes.

And then—
l open them.
Still here.
4:01 AM.
I survived.
Barely.

In the grand book of time, we all have a page,
Written in ink, yet bound by a cage.
A single page, so fleeting, so small,
But we seek to turn it, to conquer it all.

The line we cross, the test we take,
The thirst for power that we mistake—
For we think we’re the authors, the ones who decide,
But in the end, we can’t run from the tide.

The pages are many, yet ours is just one,
A moment in time, a thread in the sun.
To seek more is tempting, to push past the wall,
But we lose ourselves when we forget the call.

For in trying to play the Creator's part,
We lose the wisdom of a humble heart.
The test is simple, yet it's a heavy cost:
To accept our place, and not be lost.

The bad will wander, lost in their fire,
While the good will stand, to never tire.
And when the test is done, with no more to seek,
We’ll find peace in the truth, in the simple and meek.

So let them be bad, and let us be good,
Not for glory, but because we should.
To simply be—to live, to feel,
Is the wisdom that turns the wheel.

The end will come, as all things do,
And we’ll rest in knowing, the answer is true:
The power we seek is not ours to claim,
It’s simply to be, and to honor the name.