Poetry

Taper

A quiet wick, a slender thread, Where wax and wick together tread, It tapers—softly, gently drawn— A flame that sighs before the dawn. In candlelight the taper bends, A silken sigh that night

Usual

The usual sunrise slips through the blinds, A soft gold spill on the kitchen floor, The kettle sighs its familiar tune, Steam curling like a quiet thought. I pull on my well‑worn

Naive

Naive hearts beat soft in morning light, Trusting the world with a gentle sigh, They see the sky as a promise bright, And miss the shadows that wander by. In cobblestone lanes

Amber

In mist‑clad woods the pines once wept, Their golden tears congealed to amber’s hue, A fossil sunrise caught in silent keep, Where tiny wings forever beat anew. At crossroads, amber traffic lights

Eject

Eject From the seat of steel, a sudden thrust, A hiss of gas, a sigh of dust— The world outside the cockpit blurs, As forces pull and adrenaline stirs. In the

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