"A distant shore sang sonnets"
on the edge of twilight dreams,
where harmonies ride on sapphire tides,
and the world hums beneath moonbeams.

You paint the sky in tangerine sighs,
blushing clouds caught in secret play,
as if the sun flirts with the horizon—
a lover hidden at break of day.

"I drifted past the sunset,
where horizons make their place,"
You follow sparrows through olive trees,
scribbling wonder into time’s embrace.

The world blooms in your verses,
puppies play, fireflies dance,
even distant mountains lean in close,
swaying to your words’ romance.

"She lay on the beach,
the sun kissing her moist skin,"
A poet who flirts with the sunlight itself,
yet still finds beauty deep within.

Your lines are salt-kissed lullabies,
soft harmonies to warm the soul.
You turn nature’s breath into melodies,
with the gentlest touch, you make us whole.

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.

"In the end of days, elderly women will see visions,
young men will prophecy."
— You foresaw the storm, the whispers in the wind,
writing warnings in fire, in ink, in truth.

"Man should not fear death,
Fear ability to live."
— And so, you lived, not as a shadow passing through,
but as a flame, burning bright in defiance.

"They ask for truth, yet love the lie,
So I ask you—why?"
— You dared to expose the quiet part,
to say aloud what the world tried to hush,
to hold a mirror to the blind.

"Man flaunts eye candy,
lavish garnish, trophy wife."
— Yet you saw beyond the glitter,
beyond the painted masks of power,
choosing substance over shine.

"All that glitters is not gold."
— You walked away from illusion,
from being someone’s prize,
choosing freedom over chains,
knowing your worth beyond the price of a ring.

"Separate church, state,
People’s civil liberties—
Love, love, freed from tyranny."
— Your words rise against silence,
a voice against the tide,
a poet with conviction,
unwilling to let history be rewritten in dust.

And so, I thank you,
for your fire, your truth,
your defiance, your ink.
Your words are not just written—
they are etched into time,
screamed into existence,
refused to be erased.

The road to the middle is paved with good intentions—
but you never walked to the middle,
you walked beyond.