I let you in, I let you see
the deepest, quietest parts of me.
I gave you gifts, both kind and rare,
laid out dark secrets, every care.

But shadows shift, and masks did fall,
your honeyed voice revealed it all.
You lied, you took, then spun the tale
to paint my kindness cold and pale.

So now the gates are locked up tight,
no open doors, no welcome light.
The hands that once gave, now hold fast,
a lesson learned, a love that passed.

No whispers now, no gentle plea—
the walls stand firm, protecting me.
For trust once shattered won’t return,
when some betrayals only burn.

Yet through the cracks, the stars still gleam,
soft reminders, distant dreams.
The lock remains, the scars run deep,
but love still lingers where it sleeps.

And should one come with steady hand,
who speaks in truth, who understands,
they’ll find the key, not forced, but free—
for walls aren’t meant for eternity

1

A flower once in shadowed ground,
Timid, fragile, lost, not yet found,
Yearning for the sun’s embrace
To lift its head, to find its place.

In time, the rays began to pour,
And fear gave way to something,
More.

For in the earth, when strength is sown,
A flower stands, its courage grown
Forever seen, it’s spirit strong,
No longer wondering what went wrong.

2

A flower once in shadowed ground,
Timid, fragile, lost, unbound,
Yearning for the sun’s warm gleam
To rise and lift, to find its dream.

With time, the golden rays descend,
And fear gives way as shadows mend.

For in the soil where strength is sown,
A flower stands, its courage grown,
Its spirit bright, no longer lost,
With every petal, past is crossed.

Beneath the sea that isn’t wet,
Where blackened suns refuse to set,
A throne of teeth awaits the crowned…
But only those who’ve never drowned.

It speaks in tides not made of water,
In names that burn the tongue to utter.
And every soul who kneels to reign
Must trade their eyes to feel the flame.

Part I

(The Bee’s Lament)

The blossoms bleed no honey,
only sharp air and bitter light.
I circle fields of glass,
my wings thrumming a dying song.

The wind tastes of metal…
a scent too cold to follow.
Petals close like whispered lies,
offering only empty cups.

The queen’s throne is empty…
a silence heavier than dust.
I am a ghost in a cage of petals,
lost to a world that forgot me.

Once, my wings carried gold,
now they hum a hollow tune.
I chase a memory too distant…
a song swallowed by poisoned skies.

And when the warmth was found,
the dark recoils beneath the ground.

Part III

(The Flower’s Grief)

The sky still opens.
The rain still falls.
But nothing comes.
No wings, no call.

My roots hold firm, though the soil decays,
starved of the dance that once gave praise.
I bloom with aching memory…
offering colour to a vanished creed.

They’ve gone, the ones who crowned the spring,
lost to poison, silence, spell, or sting.
And yet I bloom.
And yet I bleed.
Because I remember what we were made to be.

Part IV

(The Spirit’s Voice)

I am not wing, nor thorn, nor spell…
but I watched them all when the silence fell.
I heard the hum, I felt the break,
the tremble when the bond did quake.

They all forget, but I remain,
carved in ash and choked in rain.
I carry names the world let go,
pressed like fossils deep below.

When bloom and buzz are echoes thin,
I keep the shape they once lived in.
And if the wind still cares to hear,
I’ll whisper truth through root and year.

I looked to the horizon,
Expecting the ocean to show me where to go,
Its waves pulling me in different directions,
Telling me where I should be.

But as I sat still,
I felt the tide shift within me,
The pull of something deeper than the sea.
I was not lost;
I was the ocean.