The sun, he burns with golden fire,
A king upon his throne so dire.
He lights the world, he warms the land,
Yet holds no love within his hand.

He chases night but never stays,
Forever lost in endless days.
He dreams of rest, of cooling shade,
But must endure the light he made.

A fiery crown, a lonely fate,
Bound to shine and never wait.
For though he glows, though bright he beams,
The sun still hides his secret dreams.

The wind, she sings a song so low,
A melody no one seems to know.
She dances through the ancient trees,
A whisper lost upon the breeze.

She touches rivers, wakes the sand,
A fleeting kiss, a wandering hand.
She murmurs love to waves so high,
Then fades before they say goodbye.

No place to rest, no home, no name,
She drifts, yet never stays the same.
A ghost of sound, a fleeting tone,
Forever singing—yet alone.

Dust settles like forgotten dreams,
Among the shelves, torn at the seams.
A book lies open, its pages worn,
Its whispers soft, its words forlorn.

The echoes of a time once bright,
Now hidden in the absent light.
Spines once straight, now bent and frayed,
Stories lost, yet still they stay.

But listen close, if you dare,
The books still breathe, their voices rare.
For every tale, though left unread,
Still lingers in the words unsaid.

Alone it clings, the autumn’s last,
A whisper from the seasons past.
Its golden veins, so frail, so thin,
Yet fighting hard against the wind.

The branches bare, its friends all gone,
Yet it refuses to move on.
It holds its breath, defies the fall,
A silent warrior standing tall.

For though the winter calls its name,
It burns with life—a tiny flame.
A final stand, a last decree,
The soul of hope, the last leaf on the tree.

Neon veins pulse through the night,
Streets alive with buzzing light.
Footsteps echo, laughter sings,
A city built on endless dreams.

Cars rush by in hurried streams,
Honking horns replace our dreams.
Billboards flash with hollow smiles,
A world that thrives in neon miles.

But in the alleys, hush and deep,
Soft sighs of those who fail to keep
The pace this city dares demand—
Lost between the lights and land.

He stands where the echoes of battle roar,
On fields of sweat, on tracks once sore.
Not just for glory, nor wealth, nor fame,
But for the fire that fuels the game.

Through dawn-lit drills and endless night,
He sharpens will, he learns to fight.
Each loss a lesson, each win a spark,
He carves his name in triumph’s arc.

Not just his strength, nor speed alone,
But heart and grit have paved his throne.
Through fractured bones and weary sighs,
Still, he dares—he never cries.

A sportsman falls, a sportsman bleeds,
Yet never yields to broken dreams.
For victory whispers to those who strive,
And legends rise where warriors thrive.

I trace your name in silent air,
A fleeting wish, a whispered prayer.
You walk so close, yet worlds away,
A sun I chase but can’t obey.

My heart, a book you’ll never read,
Each page inked with silent need.
A love that blooms but finds no spring,
A song unsung, a bird with clipped wings.

You laugh, and time forgets to move,
Your voice—a melody I can't prove.
Yet, in your eyes, I see no sign,
No lingering spark to mirror mine.

Still, I stay, a shadow near,
Hiding hope, swallowing fear.
For loving you, though bittersweet,
Is pain I cherish, a wound I keep.

A letter lies on a wooden desk,
Sealed with love, yet left undressed.
A soldier’s hand once held the pen,
But war had other plans for him.

"Dear Ma, don’t cry, I’ll be fine,
The stars still shine, the sun will rise.
I’ll be home when the winds turn warm,
And wrap you safe in my arms once more."

He wrote with hope, yet deep inside,
He knew the truth that fate might hide.
For duty called with a voice so loud,
He had no choice but to make Ma proud.

He fought in lands both near and far,
Beneath the sky, beneath the stars.
Through fire, through fear, through endless night,
He stood, he fell, yet held on tight.

And somewhere far, a mother waits,
Counting days at heaven’s gates.
A door half-open, a chair left bare,
A silence whispered in the air.

That letter still remains unread,
A final word, a love unsaid.
For soldiers write, but war rewrites,
And takes away their promised nights.

So when you stand and see them go,
Salute their strength, but feel their soul.
For every hero dressed in pride,
Hides a heart that bleeds inside.