The world is burning,
Matter dissolves —
Forms collapse —
the temples, the empires,
the names etched on marble.
Even the body,
faithful companion,
bends to the law of fading.
But what is form
but the shadow of becoming?
And yet,
essence remains —
not the monuments,
not the crowns,
but the invisible pulse
that binds us.
It survives the fire,
travels through the ashes,
and whispers:
“You are more than what perishes.
You are the song,
not the instrument.”

The cities fall into sparks,
the towers bow into ash,
and still the stars
scatter their infinite silence.
What is consumed here
is reborn elsewhere,
for the cosmos has no waste,
only transformation.

We are flames too,
brief torches of awareness
wandering through the night of time.
Our suffering is not the end,
but the beginning of vision.
Through the smoke of endings
we glimpse the open horizon—
where fire becomes light,
and light becomes love.

The world in flames
is not the world perishing,
but the world remembering
its eternal source.

Frankly 7 pots
8 billion odd.. people
gulped by a few banks

a number like a bruise on the underside of memory  
a barcode tattooed on the back of a dream  
And the echo of a name you forgot to forget  

six legs of an insect crawling across the ceiling of thought  
five fingers clenched around a stolen cigarette  
five again, because repetition is punishment, is ritual, is comfort  
three seconds before the door slams shut  
two eyes watching from behind the mirror  
one is the self, fractured, refracted, renamed  

655321  
not a number, but a sentence  
not a sentence, but a silence  
not a silence, but a scream with the volume turned down  

the world turns in loops  
milk drips from a broken glass  
a Beethoven symphony plays in reverse  
and somewhere, someone is laughing  
but it’s not joy, it’s not mockery  
it’s the sound of gears grinding in the machinery of remorse  

I am not I  
I am 655321  
I am the sum of my subtraction  
the residue of my rebellion  
the ghost in the system  
the system in the ghost  

and still
the number pulses  
like a heartbeat  
like a countdown  
like a name I never chose  
but always answered to.

The worlds a mess I tell ya, It’s going down the drain.
Everything is crazy, everyone’s insane.
Women told their bodies aren’t theirs to make a choice.
And messed up politicians who won’t listen to our voice.
The planets close to dying there’s plastic in the seas.
Cruelty and hatred brings me to my knees.
Fools with guns and hate crimes, walking hand in hand.
Decent folk are petrified all across the land.
Now I don’t have the answers, I’ve only got my prayer.
That there are many more of us, those of us who care.

The journey of two
not just a spark,
but the firewood,
the wind,
the tending.

It doesn’t start with matching vibes.
It starts with matching intents.
Not just chemistry,
but craft.
Two minds, two wounds,
two worlds—
and one vow to weave
instead of tear.

We hear it often:
equality, freedom, man vs woman—
But love isn’t a protest.
It’s a pact.
Not about who yields,
But who builds?
Together.

In every relationship—
romantic, professional, or even divine—
power isn’t in control,
but in contribution.
It’s holding space for a soul to unfurl
while keeping your own from shrinking.

It’s not one shining while the other waits.
It’s an alternating light.
Being the calm during their storm,
and the storm when they’ve settled into silence.

True freedom?
Isn’t standing solo.
It’s standing strong enough
to hold someone
without folding.

Respect is earned—
but in tandem.
Trust is built—
not by one,
but by both choosing.
over and over again
to rise
not above each other,
but beside.

Because the strongest bridges
aren’t made of sameness—
they’re made of differences
tied in truth,
and walked on by courage.

Ship is sinking but no one wants to know             Love is thinking, but it’s scared of the glow Submarines where warlords and tech gods go…   Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Babies blinking before their whole lives blow…
Elders warning, but no one wants to know
Death is forming a strange prison of gloat…
Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Time is ticking, but we’ve put that on hold
Weather’s wilding - some relief from the groans
Photos fading, the ocean bottom’s *****…
Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Sun is calling but no one wants to hope
Rainbows form differently, still no one takes note…
Sun is calling but no one wants to hope
We’ve bought the idea that humans are a *****…

Somebody finally feels good in the smoke;
Hand turns the dial higher, but dreams they’ll never know…
A whole world that’s sick and tired and inspired -  
A picture of sad old pirates shrunk in their attire…

Petals fall through time
Their soft color disappear
With a world of grey

The birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves
the smoke chokes the atmosphere, until even us can't breathe
I look upon the weary skies, the ones that fell so far
If only could this one last time I could see the stars
But the babies are all silent, the snow is blood ash-grey
The language that once taught us has nothing else to say
They tell us "Sleep now, my child. Don't worry, it's not there"
They tell us "There's no monster under the bed, no need to be scared"
But they don't see what we all see, as the pin drops in deafening silence
Sure the monster isn't under the bed, it hasn't been there since
The day that we all turned fifteen, we've long known it was here
Until the smoke cloaks our sight until even we can't see what is near
So the birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves
But at least the happy fools that brought us here think the air is clean
But everything is falling, as so does the weary skies
Holding our every breath, until even then it cannot help but cry

Some say that the world will end in fire, and some say it’ll end in ice
Some say that the world will end in explosion, the cause of the despise
Some say that we’ll move to a world we’ll learn to love, to miss our home
That we destroyed, So we’ll fly away again into the stars but still we are alone
Some say that the world will end in darkness, when our beloved light goes out
Or the god that is said to rule us, will tire and we’ll never know what the story was about
Some say that the world will end in nothing, for we’ll not comprehend it when it comes
We’ll be angry or upset, in our last moments, or perhaps holding the ones we love
I don’t know how the world would end, but maybe it’ll end when we do
The earth will grow back into the place that it deserved to
Or maybe it will end when the world breaks apart, unable to hold itself any more
Or maybe it will be when we are the ones to tear apart, ****** and full of gore
Or maybe it will never end, and though we will stop life will continue on
In a universe without us, in a universe where we are all gone
Silence of the world, slowly rocking itself asleep
Our cries were no more, nothing else to believe
Perhaps we were not meant to be in the start, for this world is out to ****
And battling nature, we’ve begun to feast at each other, our own blood what spills
There are a million ways that the world will end, and for us it seems important
But we continue to ignore that we are the cause of almost all of them
Maybe the end doesn’t matter, because at the last page of a book we cannot write more
We do not write the story, the path of fate, we know not what’s in store
So maybe if we work to make it better than it was, and maybe make it last
And not be stuck in our heads about who to love, when the world’s ending so fast
Perhaps we don’t need a war, and maybe we need unity
But there must be some sort of end, even in eternity
We can just live today as if it doesn’t exist, smile some more instead of smiling so less
The people that will come will go, and it’s okay to make a mess
Remember to clean up, for someday this will all end, best to make a home out of nothing left
Let’s leave something so the ink doesn’t dry up too soon, write our own story
While fate writes ours too