Is it the frame that holds, the muscle tight,
The heart that battles through the endless fight?
The crown of fame, the riches seized,
Or seer-sight burning where all lies are teased?

Is it the voice of gods, the soul in art,
The quiet choice, the courage to start?
The face of dawn, eyes wide with sky,
Or sunborn fire that could make worlds die?

What makes a man? The pact with shade,
The secrets buried, the occult conveyed.
The masks he wears, the games he plays,
Or thorns and roses where his spirit sways?

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He is logic, cold and withdrawn—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.

You gaze—yet truth has slipped the frame,
A tide too vast for thought to claim.
In vaulted halls where echoes fail,
Sound stalks like smoke, too thin to trail.

We dream in frames we cannot fuse,
See fractured signs and call them truths.
The sun must drown for stars to speak,
While cycles turn, and silence reaps.

Eyes half-shut miss the arc of skies,
And worship forms as if they're wise.
But those who cling will hear the chime—
Again and again.
Time breaks its crown, then reigns in rhyme.

Mathematics weeps on the altar of schemes;
Logic, betrayed, is the servant of dreams.
Ideals lie broken where strategy treads;
Matter and meaning are stitched by the dead.
Out of the void, a spear draws breath—
In it, the riddle of life and death.
Shall gods yet wield what gods did lose?
The weapon born where thought must bruise.

To build a man from stone and spark—
Not every hand can leave that mark.
He took his time, a slow-moved flame,
Not born for speed, but carved for fame.

The egg unhatched till stars aligned,
A soul too sharp for humankind.
He walked with weight, not just with pace,
Each step flattened their shallow grace.

No need for words, his silence kills,
A gaze that bends the strongest wills.
You stare too long, the truth runs red—
He lives, while others lie there dead.

Shadows stir beneath iron skies,
The blood of gods in my veins lies.
With every step, the ground does quake,
And heaven trembles in my wake.

On throne of stone, my will commands,
A king of night with blood-stained hands.
I stand unyielding, cold, and tall,
None may oppose, none shall fall.

Whispers of fate in silence scream,
For in my grasp, the world shall bleed.
With each decree, the earth shall break,
The gods weep for the sins they make.

I reign supreme, the silent call,
None shall wield the axe but I—none at all.
In shadows deep, where light is frail,
I walk as king, the eternal trail.

Ash and ember choke the sky,
Universe’s own fury roaring high.
Fortunes crumble, kingdoms fade,
Yet none lament the price they’ve paid.

The blaze runs wide—men starve, men kneel,
But ruin plants what fire will heal.
From blackened soil, fate finds its thread,
Forged anew where hope once bled.

The path is jagged, lit by flame,
A trial etched in war and name.
Those who burn may carve the way—
Through serpent smoke and shadowed sway.

I do not flinch—not even breath—
Am I a seer, or bait for death?
My thoughts drift smokeward—dim, askew—
A mind invaded, cleft in two.

I dance on wires through fractured air,
Where silence shatters, wisdom dares.
Through fractured mirrors I am hurled—
Each step reveals a spiral world.
I follow cries the ravens rend—
Crowned by madness, I ascend.

Cosmic fingers sketch the void—
A dance of stars: serene, destroyed.
Beast and man in fleeting union,
Flesh and thought in strange communion.

Birds cry out with cryptic voices,
Hearts pulled toward endless choices.
What was truth now slips its tether,
Lost in tides that bind no weather.

Nations build with fear’s direction,
Walls of pride, not true protection.
Martyrs rise in flawed succession,
Stone to dust in slow regression.

Yet when the dreamers pierce the haze,
And light ignites the fractured maze—
As planes give way to boundless vast,
Your breath becomes the world at last.

The king owns nothing—yet all men kneel.
No crown adorns him; all thrones yield.
He walks where death and gods repent,
Each step a quake the Fates ne’er dreamt.

He loosed the nectar stars once brewed,
And forged new laws in iron mood.
Destiny crowned him, marked his soul—
The will that forges his own scroll.

In stillness deep, where shadows bend,
I watch, unseen, the long world end.
One pale hand stirs the winds to sigh—
The breath is lost; the soul slips by.

The earth still shivers at my touch,
Yet none take heed, nor feel too much.
Faint whispers drift through moonlit air,
While ether shrugs, too still to care.

Most strive to unlearn my name,
Denying me through wealth and fame.
I am the law, life’s final thread—
The end will come, and all things wed.

I string my bow ’neath star-flayed skies,
Where silence coils and mercy dies.
No tremor stirs my frozen breath—
I draw a line ’tween life and death.

The twang is wrath, the arc—a prayer,
Each arrow steeped in midnight air.
No shield withstands my patient aim;
I **** not for glory, but to end the game.

Cloaked in stillness, I haunt the rift,
A ghost whose gift is a final shift.
I do not miss. I do not flee.
The king won’t fall—he’ll cease to be.

Those who see embers walk in flame,
 Bearing a power none dare name.
Through ashen woods and iron frost,
 They brand the path with fire lost.

Scorned by the wind, they rise from ash—
 Kings, fiends, and heirs of ruin’s clash.
The seer’s wrath, long sealed in stone,
 Now rends the dark to claim its throne.

They wheel like death in phoenix flight,
 Their wings blot out the vault of night.
With every cry, the stars unspool—
 Their gaze burns past both god and rule.