You lose all touch
when limits lift the brush—
both reason and heart
fall still in the hush.

No balance endures
once the self flames to star—
it cleaves unto kin,
the near and the far.

You and I purge
through the void’s pale hiss.
No breath, no urge—
when nothing’s amiss,
none wake from abyss.

The river of time flows fast, untold—
Too wild to bend, too narrow to row.
Strange how the past cuts deep in soul,
Yet melts like frost in morning’s glow.

Who sees the shapes beneath the ice?
The lives not lived, the roads not trod?
Are we but echoes, paying the price
For paths we chose—or those we dodged?

Or are we less: just cracks in stone,
A hollow where the dark has grown?
No hell will break—just blood and bone,
Silence, thick as ice below the snow.

Pen touches paper’s silent stripes,
Women struck by ******’s vice.
Each etching their nails to scar—
One verse more sharp by far.

We trade their wounds for cadence,
Their silence for a rhyme.
Our ink absolves no bodies,
Just stains the frame in mind.

Is every poet a criminal,
Who can’t resist or cease?
Shall we erase this hunger,
Or name it as disease?

Eliminate—or else divine:
Lay waste for the royal lion—
A name, a war, the weight of time.

Exhale before the weak can speak.
Let silence gild your bloodless cheek.

Kings and queens do not descend—
They glance.
Then pass.
Peasants.

Two souls collide in the quiet expanse,
Where silence breaks to an ancient dance.
He is logic, cold and withdrawn—
I, the silence just before dawn.

He and I—by fate entwined—
Mining the ether as truths unwind.
Sworn to reveal what the gods withhold,
Etching our life in celestial gold.

Atoms fuse in sacred designs,
Aging starlight in cosmic lines.
With the shock of death, a truth rung:
Not two, not none—nothing ever begun.

Barking beasts fear dusk's descent;
Might holds sway while light is lent.
Silent hunters claim the flame;
Midnight seals the reaper’s name.

Yet dawn disputes the night’s domain—
Too fierce a steed for reason’s rein.
As morning cloaks the crypts in mist,
The moon gleans what men have missed.

Nature roars with a gentler will—
Not like men, who plunder and ****.

Each moment, a leaf lets go;
Luck kneels low to spring's bright glow.
Dormant breeze sweeps through the land,
As buried riches seize the crown.

No stranger I to this raw lore:
From dust I rose—I thirst no more.
At nature’s feast, I stake my reign—
Its quiet gold: my rightful mane.