Furies surge and heave with passion
Where swells music of love’s lost lore,
As deep a longing in ocean’s roar,
Only to break, and retreat into silence.
No matter the force, an unreachable moor,
A lonely cadence played upon the shore.

Fates, like gales that pull our sails
Through calm or strife, pale or grand,
Leave us longing for the strand.
Bitter pangs of waking woes
Storm loud as immortal command,
All these lines drawn upon the sand.

Furies, lashed out from the sea,
Lie broken down on ocean’s floor,
Softened, smoothed, by ocean’s score.
For if, unscathed, we return from depths,
By what star shall we guide the oar,
That we might sail free, evermore?

Fates give not a brief repose, but
Sails unfurl, and worlds expand,
That we might explore the hinterland.
With no lines upon the sea, our fates are free –
Love removes its scouring brand,
As tide moves high upon the land.

[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.

I left an earring on your nightstand
like a dare,
like a dog whistle only I could hear,
like a lie I could almost live with,
like a warning you didn’t read.

You wrote me like you were killing time.
I let you.
I was tired—
tired of being the intermission
between things you actually wanted,
tired of holding out my hands
just to catch the sound of you leaving.

It was raining the next day.
Of course it was raining.
The whole city smelled like last chances
wrung out in the gutter,
like a bouquet dropped
when someone realized it wouldn’t change anything,

You said,
"Take care of yourself."
And I did—
by breaking every mirror
that still showed me your mouth,
by smashing every reflection
that looked like hope.

There's a version of me
still waiting at that train station—
wearing the wrong jacket,
gripping the wrong book,
mistaking longing for directions,
carrying promises like ballast.
I'll know it's you
by the way my spine recognizes the disaster
before my eyes do.

I hope she never learns.
I hope she keeps looking up every time the wind shifts.
I hope she believes in arrivals.
Even when no one steps off.

Harder to imagine, Difficult to trust
if you have the will, you gotta clutch.
                                                             -Asher Graves

I tended a garden once,
behind walls too low,
in a pasture too wide.

The vines reached for strangers
with reckless kindness,
begging to be named beautiful.

You came with smoke clinging to your sleeves,
promises falling from your mouth,
and I, fool that I was,
welcomed you.

With greedy hands, you plucked petals,
stepped on seeds meant for tomorrow,
your breath embers against my harvest.

The skies darkened.
The rivers boiled.
The orchard withered from root to leaf.

And there I stood,
ash stuck to my skin,
silence heavier than stone.

I stayed to bury what you left behind:
The wilted vines,
the broken promises,
the ruined songs.

From the shattered soil,
I built a citadel from broken things.
It stands, heavy and hollow,
Strong enough for silence to live inside.

I am no longer waiting
for careless hands to stumble upon me.
I do not open gates for ghosts.
I hope their hands break before they knock.

up and over hills
we go, we go
but on the drive in
those hills
those wonderful hills
the ones that catch my breath
and lock it in their grass roots
the impossible to climb
but on the drive in
so wonderful to see

I was bound in chains I could not see,
A prisoner to my own misery.
Whispers of doubt, a crushing weight,
The silent scream of a hopeless state.

I stood in shadows, cold and alone,
With nothing but silence to call my home.
My mind a battlefield, a ceaseless fight,
As day bled into dark, and dark into night.

The mirror showed me a ghost of despair,
A hollow stare with nothing to share.
No light within me, no fire to guide,
Just a wandering soul, nowhere to hide.

Pain was my blanket, fear my friend,
I asked if this was how it would end.
Would I be forever lost, unseen, unheard?
Would my heart stay numb, unfeeling, disturbed?

But even in the darkest of nights,
A flicker of hope would break through the fight.
A whisper, a question, a faint trace of will,
That begged me to rise, to fight, to feel.

"Why?" I asked, when surrender felt near,
"Why should I break, when life’s still here?"
A question so simple, but it tore me apart,
And from the ashes, a spark would start.

With trembling hands and a heart full of fear,
I clung to the light, though it seemed unclear.
Each day I crawled, one step at a time,
Climbing through chaos, through pain so prime.

The days grew longer, the nights more bright,
I learned to trust in the inner fight.
The pain was still there, but I held it tight,
A piece of my past, but not my light.

And now I stand, not unscathed, but free,
A warrior forged from the struggle to be.
I’ve learned that the flame never dies,
It flickers, it falters, but it still flies.

I know now that darkness can’t hold me forever,
That the questions are answers that guide us together.
From the depths of despair, I’ve come to believe,
That no matter the fall, I’ll always rise to achieve.

So I spread my wings, no longer bound,
In the light of my journey, I’ve finally found
That the power within, though tested and torn,
Is a fire that burns, and will never be mourned.

From ashes, I rise, no crown, no name,
Forged in fire, untamed by shame.
Each fall, a step, each scar, a light,
In darkness, I carve my endless fight.

I seek no praise, no fleeting fame,
I burn within, I am my flame.
Not for the weak, nor for the crowd—
I rise alone, unbroken, proud.

The world may tremble, the storm may roar,
But I will stand, forever more.
For strength is born from deepest pain,
And through the loss, I’ll rise again.

I lost, I broke, I burned to the ground,
Yet from my ashes, my crown unbound.
Through fire and fury, I carved my way,
Not for the world, but for the price I’d pay.

With sharpened mind and heart untamed,
I faced the void and felt no shame.
I reach for heights no soul has known,
Not for praise, but to claim my throne.

Where meaning blooms through love and pain,
Where every scar is gold to gain.
I’ll fall again—that truth I own,
But in each fall, my strength has grown.

I rise for me, for kin, for fire,
To light the path and take it higher.
Not for envy, nor for fame,
But for love, for will, for the name.

So let them watch, let them see,
What man can be when truly free,
When fire transforms to endless light,
When loss becomes the fuel for might.

Golden I rise, no crown I need,
The gold within is all I’ll heed.
I build, I climb, I break the chain—
For in my soul, the gold remains.

I came from silence, storms inside,
Where shadows spoke and tears would hide.
A boy made iron, flame, and thread,
I stitched my soul where others bled.

I asked the void, “Who am I now?”
No echo came—I made the vow:
To shape my mind, to sharpen steel,
To climb with scars and learn to feel.

I do not beg the stars to shine,
I build my path. The light is mine.
With every fall, I stand and grin—
Each bruise, a door I kick within.

They said, “You’re too much fire, too loud.”
But gold is never meant for crowds.
I chose the pain, the edge, the weight—
For that is where I forge my fate.

I am the man who breaks the wall,
Who walks through loss and loves the fall.
Let life strike hard—I strike it back
With vision fierce and heart intact.

I want the things they say can’t be—
The dreams too vast for eyes to see.
Not just for me, but those I love,
To lift them high, to rise above.

But I will rest, and breathe, and laugh,
And dance on broken aftermath.
For peace is part of power’s flame,
And joy is not a softer game.

I need no crown to know I won—
For I am whole when day is done.
The mirror holds my only prize:
A soul of gold, with fire in eyes.

And when I lose, I lose like kings—
Preparing for far greater things.
My failure’s just my victory’s lap,
A thunderclap before the snap.

And when I win, I build anew,
For others’ hands to climb it too.
Not envy, not control, nor pride—
But love, the storm I hold inside.

So mark these words and hold them tight:
I live for truth, I burn for light.
My name won’t fade, it multiplies—
For I am gold.

Golden, I rise.