If chains can gleam, do they still bind the soul?
His eyes searched;
they explored the dim room,
scanning shadows for something to ease pain.
His gaze found
a blade upon the shelf;
it gleamed silver in the muted air.
His heart lurched;
it fluttered at the grim thought,
imagining release from the cold chain.
H, the silence before surrender
A free verse poem about the courage it takes to speak, and the loneliness when that courage falters. As voices shout and shame, one soul wonders what it would take to finally stand, speak, and survive.
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A spectral monarch speaks from a crumbling tower, cut off by ambition, betrayal and a heart long turned to frost. This poem drips with decay, not just of power, but of connection, longing and trust.
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A blood-stained sonnet of abuse and survival, told beneath the Celtic moon. A cry from the dark, where no one listened, not even God.
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In this 3-6-9 micro-poem, a tiger becomes the metaphor for a wild, forbidden love that both captures and awakens. A brief moment of rebirth burns within the embrace of danger.
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Beneath polished speeches and pious robes, corruption festers—its breath thick with greed, its fingers stained by lies, its prayers dripping with perversion.
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A soul imprisoned behind unseen walls, where sunlight never reaches and mockery reigns. Yet within the cold—a spark endures, whispering, “I exist.”
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