Follow your heart
Шрифт:
Pain tears apart the soul inside,
Subduing the living with each tide.
A single glance of jealous spite,
And the spirit falls to endless night.
A darkened cell enshrouds the brow,
Eclipsing all with solemn vow.
The sunbeam falters, lost, denied,
Where once the pathways opened wide.
Compassion stirs for hearts that bleed,
For souls ensnared by hollow greed.
Through circles they wander, bound and blind,
By burdens of their own design.
LET THEM WEEP WHO SPURNED OUR LOVE
“Let the heavens judge, for justice finds its way through storms and tears alike.”
Let them weep who spurned our love,
Let the heavens rage, the storms above.
Let lightning carve their fleeting lies,
While justice howls through endless skies.
I ride the steed of broken dreams,
Through shadowed plains and moonlit streams.
No chains can bind this heart’s decree,
For pain shall yield to destiny.
You turned and said, “I shall not stay.”
Yet now your tears betray the day.
Why linger in the halls of strife,
And haunt the echoes of my life?
Ashes of hope, embers of disdain,
You scorned my soul, but not in vain.
For from the shards, I rise anew,
Beyond the reach of what I knew.
The winds I loosed now hunt you down,
Their whispers echo, fierce and profound.
Run swift, yet know my heart is whole,
Untamed, unbroken—an eternal soul.
WHAT IS LIFE WITHOUT HONOUR OR FAILINGS?
“I have lost people I loved with all my heart—my mother, my father, my fiance, and a few close friends. A time of mist and shadows, where loss, love, and the quiet force of endurance shaped me. Strength grows, not in ease, but in the crucible of pain, when the mind and heart ache beyond words.
What is life without honour or failings?
A hollow march through fleeting unveilings.
What is honour bereft of strife?
A fragile veil, untouched by life.
No steel is forged in gentle streams,
No soul awakens from shallow dreams.
It takes the storm, the blinding rain,
To carve the heart from grief and pain.
Each loss a weight, a silent stone,
Each love a light, though dimly shown.
Yet through the darkness, strength is born,
A soul remade, though bruised and torn.
What is the path without its thorns?
A barren field where nothing mourns.
What is the heart that knows no ache?
A fragile shell that dares not break.
The cliffs may call, the seas may rise,
The stars may dim in shadowed skies.
Yet still we stand, though bent and scarred,
For life’s true gift is won through hard.
I lost my loves, I lost my ground,
Yet found myself where loss abounds.
For honour blooms from what we bear,
And failing teaches how to care.
To fall is human, yet to rise—
That is where all true glory lies.
For what is life without the fight,
Without the darkness to birth the light?
The journey bends, the edges fray,
But courage leads the heart away—
Away from void, from hollow strife,
To face the fire, and call it life.
MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS
“Dear Diary,
Hundreds of pages by classical writers—Turgenev, Zola, Dumas, Tolstoy, Bradbury, and countless others—have offered me wisdom, yet no clear decisions. Thousands of experiences weigh on me, yet the answers remain veiled. I need to meditate, to let my mind find its quiet. For in the stillness, the mind whispers its loudest truths. Sometimes, silence is the only answer.”
Thoughts creaked beneath the shadowed glow,