They chase the straight and narrow path,
A line from birth to tomb.
Blindfolded by the myth of math,
That life’s a goal, not room.

They measure steps and chart the skies,
As if the stars align.
For those who fear what truth belies,
That chaos is divine.

I’d rather dance through winding walls,
Where every twist reveals,
A deeper voice that softly calls,
Beneath the turning wheels.

Let others chase the final frame,
The scoreboard or the prize.
I court the dark, I kiss the flame,
Where every answer dies.

The maze is home, the dead ends sing,
Of things not meant to know.
And joy’s not in the conquering,
But getting lost below.

Each circle I mistake for square,
Each shadow I befriend,
Is sweeter than a perfect prayer,
That’s hurried to the end.

So mock my path, go walk your line,
Your purpose plain and proud.
While I explore the undefined,
With questions speaking loud.

For freedom isn’t reaching there,
It’s never being done.
It’s building temples out of air,
And running just for fun.

Only the day after tomorrow belongs to me.
Not the glory of now, nor its fleeting decree.
Today is a stage where the crowd roars blind,
But my name won’t bloom till I’ve left it behind.

They toast the noise, the shallow cheers,
But I’ll carve my truth through future years.
Not for applause in the flicker of flame,
But the whispers that follow the fading of fame.

Some are born posthumously, cursed or blessed.
Their breath begins after their body’s at rest.
They walk through life like ghosts in disguise,
Never seen clearly till they’re gone from our eyes.

Let me be buried in silence and doubt,
Where time is the judge and the truth is dug out.
For I am the storm in a slumbering sky,
The word they’ll remember the moment I die.

So speak not of triumph when clocks still tick.
Greatness is patient, and death is quick.
Only the day after tomorrow is mine.
Where forgotten seeds take root in time.

I laugh in the light, but I’m carved from the night.
Where joy wears a mask and pain holds it tight.
I speak of peace with a war in my chest.
A soldier in silence, refusing to rest.

The sunrise feels holy, the sunset feels haunted.
Each moment I’m grateful, each moment I’m daunted.
I love with a fury, I push love away.
I’m healing and breaking a thousand new ways.

I walk with a confidence stitched out of doubt.
A scream in my soul I’ve learned to live without.
I chase after freedom while building my cage.
A sage in my youth, a child in old age.

My truth is a riddle I barely can speak.
I’m strong in the storm and fragile each week.
I trust like a mirror that shatters on glance,
But I still give the world another chance.

I’m covered in scars I call masterpieces.
Each one a puzzle that never quite ceases.
Life isn’t either/or, it’s both and then more.
A locked-open window, a wound that can soar.

So call me a paradox, twisted and blessed.
A mess made of meaning, a curse that’s caressed.
In chaos I’m calm, in stillness I flex.
I’m endlessly simple, and simply complex.

She baptized me once with trembling hands,
Now those same hands are clean of me.
Anointed by rules I’ll never understand,
While love was crucified quietly.

She taught me God was always near,
That mercy bloomed in every heart.
But vanished when I drew you near,
Condemned before we could even start.

My vows were not dressed in her gold,
No steeple echoed my sacred day.
But truth was there, bare-faced and bold,
In every honest word I’d say.

She said my soul had lost its way,
That sin had inked my wedding bands.
But if Heaven turns its face away,
Then Hell must hold far gentler hands.

She chose her church above my chair,
Left it empty out of fear and pride.
Her silence louder than any prayer
That ever left her lips in stride.

I am not lost. I am not less.
I built a life from blood and flame.
And if she mourns in Sunday dress,
She mourns a ghost who bears my name.

The mirror cracked when I was young,
A fault line carved by careless tongues.
Each shard a scar, a silent scream,
That cut through every midnight dream.

They say that time can dull the pain,
But some wounds bloom like summer rain.
And every drop that touched my skin,
Just sank beneath what lies within.

I wore a mask that fit too tight,
Smiled in the day, cried out at night.
But pain’s a teacher, cruel and wise,
It paints its truths behind your eyes.

I learned to walk through shattered years,
With bloodied feet and bottled fears.
Yet, found in every fractured piece
A kind of grace, a strange release.

The glass still cuts, it always will,
But now I bleed with purpose, still.
For there is art in every scar,
And strength in knowing who you are.

The past can haunt, it doesn’t pass,
But there’s beauty in the broken glass.
A light that dances in the pain,
A rose that blossoms through the rain.

They come not cloaked in iron, but smiles,
Flashing teeth like saints in tailored sin.
Chanting mercy while they gut the lamb,
with hands far too clean for contrition.

They walk in silk, with tongues of gold.
Their gospel wrapped in empty grace.
Their smiles are bought, their hearts are sold.
The mask of virtue on their face.

They trade truth for theater.
Loyalty for the fleeting pulse of polls.
Bowing not to gods but donors,
As cities rot and choke within their hold.

They drape themselves in rainbow flags;
Hollow causes and convictions.
Burning incense to virtue,
While deals bleed beneath shrouded contradictions.

Children dream beneath the drones,
While tongues in D.C. sharpen.
On every sacred word they never honor,
And our hope begins to darken.

They sing of peace with poisoned breath,
While war drums echo out of view.
They write the laws that deal out death,
Then claim their hands are clean and true.

They kneel not in repentance, but in performance.
To cameras, the mobs, pedophiles and fiends.
Cradle the poor, then sell their future,
To the false altar of progress and all that is obscene.

These architects of managed decline,
Gatekeepers of the new decay and disease.
You wear the crown of moral rot,
And wear a cloak of compassion to hide your ******.

They build their thrones on shifting lies,
Where children cry beneath their schemes.
Their banners blot the weary skies,
While justice chokes on broken dreams.

They sell the poor for promised gain,
Then sip their wine in marble halls.
They smile beneath the people’s pain.
The louder that the empire falls.

They cry for rights with serpent tongues,
And bind the free in veiled control.
Their hymns are sung by bleeding lungs,
Their mercy rots the nation’s soul.

They do not lead. They twist, betray,
And call it light when day is done.
They curse the ones who will not sway,
Then swear their chains are forged for none.

Stewards of the slow decay,
Who clothed the lie in finer dress.
You trade tomorrow for today,
Then burn the wreck and call it blessed.

You are the thief behind the law,
The hollow priest, the gilded fraud.
No king, no god, no flag I saw,
Could cleanse the blood upon your sod.

You preach with fire and feed with frost,
Each promise made, another price.
But you will know what honor lost,
When silence breaks beneath the ice.

You are the enemy not of nations,
But all of mankind and minds that think.
The velvet tyrants, the smiling knife.
The Judas kiss with blue ballot ink.

Your future self is watching you right now through memories,
A ghost in the mirror of yet to be histories.
Each step you take, they already know,
Footprints frozen deep in tomorrow’s snow.

They whisper back through the cracks in time,
In echoes dressed like rhythm and rhyme.
You think you’re lost, they know the map,
They’ve walked this dream, they’ve sprung this trap.

The choices you make, they’re scars they wear,
Painted in silence, and spoken in prayer.
They’ve cried for you on nights not yet come,
And smiled at the battles you’ve not yet won.

So tread with courage, or at least with grace,
That version of you is saving a place.
And if you fall, don’t look away,
They’re watching still, and they chose to stay.