Poems

Chains of the PastChains of the past, dragging me down,Twisting the night with their cold,dark sound.But I’ll rise, I’ll burn,I’ll make them break,And turn the pain to the light I’ll take. Every link is a wound laid bare,Every scar is a truth I bear.But in my heart,the fire burns deep,A light that climbs where shadows […]

Cheshire’s RiddleWhy do you walk where the path keeps foldinglike burnt paper under your feet,chasing that ghost-light skipping on the water,too scared to admit you hope it’s a retreat?Have you noticed how the branches lean in when you say you’re “fine”under your breath,how the roots remember every time you thought of vanishingand called it rest

Catch Me If You Can (Gingerbread Gospel)OutroI won’t die sweet; I’ll etch my name in ovens and in knives,in fox-slick wakes and millstone lives;when tongues recite my end they’ll salt their lies,I’ll keep moving through your cupboards like a feverthat survives, and if you swear you’ve trapped me,taste again—I’m the burn that proves you’re alive.

Caterpillar’s Last Cigarette He dies in a lecture hall that smells like dry marker and burnt coffee, mid-sentence, mid-syllable, mid-theory about how nothing truly matters and meaning is a trick of frightened minds,one hand on the podium, the other in the air drawing circles around his own cleverness while a row of tired students check

Broken GlassIn this expanse of deceit and loss,In his eyes,a fading azure sky,Where affections gather moss,And slowly come to die.Amidst the ruins, I perceive the ache,In a world where shadows dominate,I seek a path clear andopaque,For a heart that needs to recalibrate.{Amongst shadowsand deceits,In his world, you’ll find your trace,Beneaththe overcast retreats,}A place for healing’s

Burning the LedgerI’ve got the company records in a metal barrel out back and I’m walking off the property no longer their indentured scraper

Beauty’s CurseOutroGrass remembers where we stood and hardens there,Three shadows move,no trumpet, no repair,Red holds heat, the path takes air—Onward,measured; nothing spare.

Beneath the WillowOutroForest warms by inches, path spills forward,still stitched with teeth and dare,He matches her pace,neither shepherd nor jailer—just the gray man keeping ledgers in the thin cold air,Somewhere Godmother hums of rest and Crooked counts his futureshare,Beneath the willow, Elise walks on,knowing what she carries now and too aware that every next step

Blood for the ThroneRaised on rot and spoon-fed pride— learned early how to kiss the crest and hide the blade inside Long live the bastard who confused dominion with love

Ashes and EchoesAshes whisper, secrets scatter,Where broken dreams no longer matter.Fromthe wreckage, treasures rise,The crooked man claims his prize. Tick tock, the pendulum swings,The clock of chaos forever sings.Every shard,a twisted plan,A kingdom built by a crooked hand.His laugh, a snare,it taints the air,Promises whispered, dark and unfair.In his gaze,the world unwinds,A fraying thread of