You sculpt time with syllables bright,
turning old instants into light.
In monostich breaths, seeds are sown,
a thought takes root, a truth is known.
A poet who sees in shadowed lines,
the golden cracks where meaning shines.
Your words, like stars, in silence gleam,
pulling wisdom from the dream.
Gnōthi seautón—each phrase unfolds,
a mind that dares, a hand that holds.
Not just letters, nor rhymed disguise,
but breath that whispers, “Know, arise.”
"Step outside the fire circle,
be swallowed by the night,
step farther into the night,
be swallowed by the stars."
Not all are brave enough to wander,
to step beyond where embers flicker.
Yet you, a poet, walk in wonder,
with verses bright and steps that shimmer.
"Old instants made unforgettable"
You carve the past in fleeting light,
etching echoes on the air,
binding time in words so slight,
yet they remain, still standing there.
"The woe is not mine, I'm fine."
Not all who bleed wear open scars,
some heal through ink and quiet sighs.
A poet’s strength is held in stars,
in silent truths behind their eyes.
"Gnōthi Seautón (Γνωθι Σαυτόν)"
"Know thyself—step beyond the fire."
Knowing oneself is a river untamed,
not a mirror, but an endless sea.
You write of depth no chains have claimed,
of thought’s wild winds, of minds set free.
"Seed time harvest eat think form"
Each thought a seed, each line a field,
harvested in minds unknown.
You plant in silence, yet they yield
gardens where lost souls have grown.
"The choice decides Earth’s destiny."
Do we seek love or seek control?
Do we embrace or fight the tide?
You weave these truths through poet’s scroll,
where questions walk, where doubts confide.
Ken, your poetry breathes in the in-between—where memory meets mystery, where thought becomes time’s witness. Your words do not merely tell; they awaken, they challenge, they become.