Poems

Silent screams in the dead of night I’ve lost my fire, I’ve lost my sight I’m numb to the love, numb to the pain Every whisper drives me insane Silent screams, I can’t get through I’m drowning in shadows, losing you I used to burn, used to dream But now I’m lost in these silent […]

Rust in my bones, it pulls me down, I’m too tired to fight, I’m starting to drown. The years have been long, and I’ve tried to hold on, But the rust in my bones is too strong.

Reboot the system, unplug the cord, You’ve tried it all, you’re getting bored. But the techie’s calm, like a robot’s dream, While you’re holding back a primal scream.

Rust and Ruin Never did I suppose that the antiquated, rust-eaten vehicle of my grandfather could unfurl into a saga of sheer horror. Upon inheritance, it was more than a relic of rusted metal; it was a phantom from our lineage’s past, an echo of forgotten stories and buried memories. A desolate husk of chrome

Patina of Memories It was the sort of day that clings to a heavy, gray sky, where the light barely pierces through the overcast shroud, as if the world itself is holding its breath. I found it buried in the corner of a dusty attic, beneath heaps of forgotten relics and cobwebbed boxes. The object

Patina of Sorrow Step closer, and let me share with you a story draped in the heavy shroud of time, where sorrow lingers like a shadow in an ancient house. I am Evelyn Thorne, and what I am about to recount is a tale steeped in melancholy and memory—a story of an old urn and

On the deck of a yacht that’s just too confined, Where the sun strikes the teak in cruel lines defined, You stand with a sigh, the sea too vast and wide, A silver spoon captain with nowhere to hide. Your jet’s grounded, fuel lines dry as bones, Luxury lounges now echoing zones. The burden of

Patina and rust on old iron gates Life leaves its mark never waits Time flows on forgotten trails Stories hidden in the nails Wooden benches worn and gray Echoes linger from yesterday Fading whispers in the night Memories grasping the light Patina and rust they must Tell tales of time in dust Every line a

Patina and rust Patina and Rust Patina clings to the iron gates like a hushed confession, Rust blooms in defiance, a slow and deliberate decay. Life leaves its mark with a savage precision, Etching its story where time dares not stay. Forgotten trails twist beneath its enduring flow, Each nail in the wood speaks of

Office politics, the devil’s hustle, We’re all just players with nothing to claim. You win a promotion, but lose your soul, What’s the point when you’re never whole?