In whispers soft, the dawn will break,
Embrace the light, let shadows flee,
With every breath, a chance to wake,
Life’s fleeting dance, a gift to see.

The world awaits, a canvas wide,
In whispers soft, the dawn will break,
With open arms, we rise and ride,
With every breathe, a chance to wake.

Through trials faced, the victor’s call,
Embrace the light, let shadows flee,
From dawn’s first light to evening’s fall,
Life’s fleeting dance, a gift to see.

We are at war with each other (first & foremost)
because we are at war with(in) ourselves
(our hearts) we are found inconstant and
(battles rage on)
thus it has been recorded:
‘divided houses cannot stand’

Hello
PeOple of the once
EThereal metamoRph
Your moment has now
arrived; PERiwinkle
adornments on your
china on display,
SPecific to table placements
ICarian silhouettes on
placemats, UnIcorn-lined
doilies in conTrast Yell
out: 'perspicacity.'
Your aid and companionability
see us through it all.

Some things hold more weight than verse,
An infant's cry, a dog’s keen thirst;
The kettle’s boiling song,
Talk shows on elections burst,
And TikTok trends disperse,
Mundane life prolonged.

Our days filled with moments bright,
Meals that churn, and dawn's first light;
Promises we tend.
Viral clips that haunt the night,
Pathways tread, both wrong and right,
Fond repeats, they mend.

In trials faced, in highs and lows,
Daily life, in poetry shows;
Heartbeats, fears, and joys.
In simple acts, our story grows,
Each line our journey knows,
Love and life; our voice.

"Untethered"

shelves of faces wheel past our names
we dissolve on blinking glass—
silent exits logged but never traced
by the circuits that once claimed us

our missteps vanish in tangled code,
no pardon queued;
the platform shrugs in empty bits,
leaving apologies half-typed and gone

perhaps erasure spills relief:
we unhook from worn-out errors,
drop the weight of old regrets
that bruised our shoulders for years

light on our feet, we step beyond the frame
into roads uncharted,
laughter stirred by fresh horizons—
ready at last for what comes next






.

A figure, stern and cold,
receives a laurel leaf with surprise.
No introduction, no warmth exchanged
                . . . just the reality of presence
                 the edge of diffidence . . .

The leaf, tender and green
rests lightly in their hand
a symbol of honour, unspoken worth.
In its quiet embrace,
               a connection begins to form;
bridging the divide of understanding.

The caustic words, the guarded heart,
begin to soften in the face of one gesture.
The laurel invites a new beginning,
a chance to be seen, to be known
beyond the barriers of silence.