Time is not a surface to skim—It is a depth to wade through slowly.Not the polished verse of campaign songs,But a cipher, waiting to be unraveled.Pause.Linger.It was never meant

In the fevered bloom of flesh, We are summoned— By longing, by lust, by the illusion of joy. We dance in the rapture of touch, Only to dissolve Into the

In quiet reverence, the potter works alone, Breathing life into earthen form, a delicate tone. The wheel spins round, a gentle, soothing sound, As the vessel takes shape, fragile, yet

I pledge allegiance to my land, Yet this anthem feels worn and bland. Its chorus, once proud, now cliché— A relic sold to dismay.   Containers of corruption brim, Filled

I stand among the bamboo stalks, Their gentle sway as calm as lambs. Yet beneath this peace, a wild disguise— The beasts of the jungle stir inside.   It roars.

There’s always a signal when history replays— A whisper, a click, a call to the past. Ravens and doves, Noah’s litmus test, Measured the flood’s fury—its depth, its vast.  

On the mountainside, I stood alone A solitary figure, lost in thought’s dark tone The silent breeze whispered secrets, as the trees above Swayed gently, their leaves rustling, a soothing

With cunning guile, he wielded power A master of manipulation, each hour His flaws, a strategic ploy, a ruse to gain A foothold in the region, a ruthless refrain  

I wrapped the overcoat around her frame, A tender gesture, a lover’s gentle claim. The misty veil ascended, shrouding the trees, As we strolled, lost in the whispers of the

In diplomatic parlance, He was known as a “friendly tyrant”—A paradox wrapped in protocol, A partner cloaked in iron. A dependable ally in our time, Sustained by generous streams of