Poems

The Hatter’s ReflectionOutroCoin spins once more, hits bone, hits floor,then disappears in the seam of the nightlike a secret he’ll never confess,Somewhere far off,a broken music box plays itself without a hand,and he tips his hat to the echo and the mess,He walks on,stitched together by curses and choices,humming to himself as the corridors flex […]

The Hatter’s ContestOutroMirrors blacken, toys go mute,the door exhales a warning hiss,She’s already past the threshold,writing law in steps like this.

The Hatter’s GameRemember thisYou walked in on your own two feetI only set the tableI only poured the teaSay myname when the night folds inHatterWizardWeeWillyI will hear youwhether you are readyor not

The Echoes of the MileWalk the echoes, hear their cry,The fractured tales of thosewho tried.No truth remains, no road isclear,The crooked path feeds on your fear. You wear their burdens, the weight of loss,A shattered mirror of what theycrossed.Each echo burns, a splintered truth,A debt unpaid, a stolen youth. The crooked mile takes what it

The Final EchoThis is the final echo, the end of the line,Where darkness whispers,“Your soul is mine.”Each burning step carves through the abyss,I’m the answer,the defiance to this. I see his silhouette, tall and lean,A puppet master pulling the scene.His stringsof despair won’t tether me long,I sever them all with the strength I’ve drawn. The

The Crooked PathWalk the crooked mile, tread with care,Every step’s a snare,a dare.The walls will shift, the night will call,But through the dark,I’ll break it all. The past is a ghost that won’t let go,Its fiery eyes,they burn and glow.But I won’t bend,I won’t retreat,I’ll carve my way through each defeat. The path may twist,

The Dismantled OnesBroken gears and shattered steel,A world of pain they can’tconceal.Once they stood with fire alight,Now they fade into the night. The past still calls, a ghostly hymn,A reminder carved in broken limbs.Theirsilent forms, though cold and torn,Hold truths that blaze where hope is born. In the shadows, they lie still,Yet their stories rise,bending

The Cloak Left on the Hook There was a time she could outrun any shadow in these woods, red cloth snapping behind her like a flag that refused to fold or fade,boots chewing mud, lungs burning, teeth bared at wolves and men alike, basket swung like a makeshift weapon every time trouble tried her, every

The Crooked MileWalk the crooked mile tonight,Through the darkwhere wrong feels right.No allies near,no guiding light,The crooked man waits out of sight. Each step you take unties the threadsthat bound your fragile mind,And through the fog,the crooked man waits patiently to bind.The further in, the more you give,your soul begins to fall,For once you walk

The Beanstalk Above the Fog Jack doesn’t die on a farm with dirt under his nails and a good deed on his tongue;he dies in a cramped back room behind a pub with somebody else’s money in his pocket and a story already half-spun.Dice still rolling across the table when his heart misfires, little white