She writes in whispers, in echoes that stay,
Carving lost names in the wind’s soft sway.
Her ink is sorrow, her verses bleed,
A requiem sung for the hearts that need.

"When someone who loves us fades away,"
She mourns the words we failed to say.
Regret clings tight in the hush of night,
Where silence weeps in the absence of light.

Yet love, in her hands, is vast and free,
A grand heist stolen from sky and sea.
"The sunset’s glow, so bold, so bright,"
She claims the stars, the waves, the light.
For love is not caged—it is wild, untamed,
A river that flows, never to be named.

She speaks of love beyond mere touch,
Of time-defying, endless trust.
"Love reshapes, rebuilds, redefines,"
She whispers of love that never confines.
A fire that burns yet does not consume,
A madness that dances beneath the moon.

And when she writes of power’s weight,
Of hands that build and hands that break,
She lays before us the choice of fate—
"Will you rule & hold position of power?
OR will you love, and set love free?"

Oh, poet of grief, of love, of fire,
Your words take flight, they never tire.
They carve their names on hearts unseen,
A melody woven in gold between.

If ever ink could outlive time,
It would be yours—sublime, divine.

Time drips slow like falling rain,
upon a heart weighed down with pain.
A thousand thoughts fill up my mind,
but no place left for peace to find.

By the sea, the wind still calls,
whispering stories through hollow halls.
Beneath the moon, beneath the sky,
I watch the stars and wonder why.

My soul is torn, yet still I smile,
walking cold and lost for miles.
The sun once warm, now barely light,
shadows stretch into the night.

I hold my breath, I close my eyes,
feel the fire where silence lies.
A single dream, a fleeting touch,
a whispered hope, but never much.

My hands still shake, my lips still burn,
for memories that won’t return.
The truth is heavy, life is loud,
the past is just a drifting cloud.

Yet in the dark, I still believe,
that something waits, beyond the grieve.
For even lost, we still remain—
a whisper carved into the rain.

The match trembles between my fingers,
a silent war in a room too still.
Smoke or breath—what matters now?
The weight of nothingness, the weight of her.

She lingers like an unfinished line,
half a whisper, half a wound.
A memory blurred at the edges,
but sharp enough to cut through the dark.

Did she ever love me, or just the idea?
A boy with dreams too heavy to hold,
an engineer of castles in air,
a builder of futures that never came.

Outside, the night hums with indifference.
Inside, I weigh the lighter’s click
against the echo of her voice—
soft, pleading, unbearably distant.

I could fade with the smoke,
or chase the sun she once pointed to.
Between life and her,
I choose to breathe.

In a world of crumbling cities, we stand on the platform’s edge,  
A train hums softly, bearing whispers, she says, “We must pledge.”  
"The road ahead is dark," she breathes, "And this place offers no grace,"  
She boards in haste, I'm left behind,
faceless foes as the shadows close in place.

With cold hands grasping tight, they hold me back with force,  
The train is moving, heart is pounding, love’s a fleeting course.  
But through the struggle, I break free, tearing through their hold,
I sprint to catch the fleeting train, heart burning, fierce and bold.  

From car to car, I chase her voice, through walls of steel and gloom,  
Her cry cuts through the silence, like the bloom of a flower’s doom.  
“Where is he? Has he made it?” Her voice, a tremulous song,  
And in that moment, I hear her call, where we both belong.  

With joy, we meet, our arms entwined, the world feels whole once more,  
She rests on my lap, our lips collide - relief, like never before.  
In the depths of night, in a broken world, we find our stolen light,  
Together, we are home again, love’s fire burning bright.
Together again, we are the same.