Poems

(Final Chorus) Remember when your hand slipped into mine,Two fools who thought we’d beat the clock?We stitched our dreams like patchwork quilts,Believed they’d never fray or slip. I held them close through endless nights,Through wounds that neither of us could hide.But love don’t always win the war—Sometimes it just learns to let go. Goodbye to […]

Elegy for Forgotten Dreamsby Dawg In crypts where lost ambitions softly molder,dreams curl like paper in a slow, perpetual burn,their remains pressed beneath a tombstone shoulder,the hush of regret, a lesson the living never learn. Here, past’s confessions gather–quiet, unrepentant–hope’s ancient bones tangled deep in sorrow’s dirt,yet in the rot, new sinews pulse, relentless, unrelenting,a

Endless Pits The asphalt was a boundary where the planet let me goI’m flailing in the vacuum where the bitter currents blowThe lawn is just a memory of a lush and plastic peaceI’m seeking out the bottom but I’m finding no releaseMy fingers claw the oxygen like talons in the darkI’m falling through the neighborhood

Echoes of the Mindby Dawg In the skeletal hush where darkness plots,consciousness unfurls beneath phantom hands–neural corridors flicker with dread,mapping a geography of wounds time cannot withstand. The mind, a winding maze of old betrayals and unspoken names, sits exposedto the slow, predatory drip of memory,to the hiss of what was banished but never decomposed.Nightmares,

Edinburgh Castle, Scotland — Ghostly Marchesby Dawg Stone above stone, an iron crown carved from centuries of war,Edinburgh Castle watches, its battlements bleeding folklore.Mist snakes the esplanade–cold as a promise, sharp as regret,shadows flicker under the gate, the dead not finished yet. Night splits on the drawbridge, drums thunder in headless defiance,ancient phantoms assemble, ghosts

Echoes of Resolveby Dawg Among the ghosts of failures past, resilience learns to breathe–specters of blunder parade with sharpened claws,but every scar becomes a step, every stumble a wreathwoven for victory from the jawsof memory’s grave. The shamed and the damnedwould linger, would feed, would keep the bold in chains.Yet the stride of the undaunted

Echoes of the Btle I walk through life with a soldier’s stance,Eyes wide, head high, in a constant dance.Fireworks crack like a sniper’s call,I flinch, I falter, but I never fall.Walls my back in every room,Restaurants feel like a tactical zoom.Crowds are a field where shadows play,I search for dangers that never stray.Every pop, a

Eastern State Penitentiary, Pennsylvania — Ghosts of Broken Menby Dawg Past midnight, the walls rise hungry, older than regret,stones black with confessions the city tries to forget.Eastern State stands unblinking, a mausoleum for rage,cells stacked like lost years, bars like lines on a cage. History bleeds through the mortar, soaked in each scream,hope packed up

Echoes and Stones Don’t dwell on what you’ve beenLet future journeys beginThe path to who you wanna beIs shaped by all your history Echoes of your past they callBut don’t let them define your soulMemories evoke rise and fallIn every wound there’s a goal The lessons etched in every scarGuide you like a northern starEach

Demon Murder Trial, Connecticut — Devil Made Me Do Itby Dawg Under harsh Connecticut light, in the year of 1981,a young man’s hands bore blood–the courtroom silence had just begun.Arne Cheyenne Johnson, with sunken eyes, stands accused of slaughter,a tragedy in Brookfield, a murder for which no mortal could barter. It began months before, in