I woke up sad this morning                                                          ­                       after days of feeling blue                                                             ­       dark  clouds have been forming                                                          ­           keeping  me feeling subdued                                                          ­  I've  remained  in isolation                                                        ­                       to  try to  gather up my thoughts                                                         ­          or   to attempt a transformation                                                   ­     maybe   it  is all for naught                                                           ­            Either  way I need seclusion                                                        ­             behind  my wall I feel safe                                                             ­          Let  the  world see the illusion                                                         ­        even  though it is all fake

theres a folk lore story from many years ago
about a famous dog that every one would know
the dog he was from wales a folk lore tragedy
a tale they say is true that didnt have to be

it tells of a prince. named Llywelyn the Great
tells the story of his son in a tragic fate
went out on a hunt left his dog to guard is son
prince he went of to have some hunting fun

when the prince returned he saw blood on the hound
looked in  his sons cot was nowhere to be found
prince he drew his sword killed his faithful hound
there were yells and screams as he fell to the ground

then he heard a cry from a blooded blanket on the floor
the prince lifted up the blanket there a dead wolf saw
his son was still alive his dog saved a tragedy
he fought to save his son with all his bravery

now the dog his a legend Gelert his is name
alway to be remebered in the hall of fame
theres a memorial you can visit south of Beddgelert village
its in wales

Beneath the veil of endless night,
The stars are born in quiet light.
Dust of galaxies, scattered far,
A cosmic dance, a distant star.

In the dark, the North Star gleams,
A beacon bright, the keeper of dreams.
Guiding souls through wind and tide,
A steadfast light that won’t subside.

The ocean hums in endless blue,
A rhythm old, a pulse so true.
It mirrors skies, both deep and vast,
Where stardust falls, and hearts beat fast.

The waves caress the shore with grace,
As if the sea, in endless chase,
Would capture stars and carry them,
To light the night, to guide again.

So in the whispers of the sea,
And in the stars that call to me,
I find a truth that's pure and near—
That we are stardust, crystal-clear.

Bound by tides and shining bright,
Like stars above in endless flight.
We drift, we rise, we find our way,
By stardust trails and ocean spray.

It wasn’t the act,
but the knowing.

The way silence held the weight
of a promise once made,
then broken
with ease.

Not a mistake,
a decision,
deliberate,
measured
in the echo of things once said.

“I won’t, I promise.”
became
“it just happened.”

But nothing just happens
when you already know
what it would do
to someone
who trusted you
anyway.

They watched the ground split open
and still walked
the fault line.

Not blind.
Just willing.

And I, the after.
The leftover ache.
Learning again
that people can mean what they say
only until it’s inconvenient.