I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.

I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.

I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.

I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.

At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.

The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.

So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.

I lay down arms against the evening.

To the dreaming

I cast my gaze.

I'm a man of my word
Completely unreliable
You've probably heard
If you know me you'll know it's undeniable
I'm talking all of it, not a third
Like how Christians view the Bible
Even though they know it's absurd,
Otherwise they'd be way more scared
But with me it's actually believable,
You can see everything's unachievable

©2024

And so it goes
from cradle to grave
From baby’s wail
to funeral laid

We reason, ponder,
dissent, and cry
As time repeats
and years go by

Sages offer
their grand excuse
In what’s left wanting
to feed the muse

But one thing’s certain
to never change
Death recycles
— the same old game

(The New Room: May, 2024)