I Lately, I have questioned the shadow of virtues, whether they root themselves in me, whether their weave is whole or frayed. I know I am not of the bitter soil, nor a bearer of poisoned fruit. But what is virtue if not tangled? What is flaw if not a wayward vine? II I have…
I I have walked through markets of faces, Where smiles are masks and words deceive; Many hunger for the simple graces, To be liked, a craving they weave. II What is this liking, void of truth, That shuns the mirror’s candid light? A tragedy of flattery’s youth, Robbing souls of honest sight. III I have…
XXII The quiet stretches like a river wide, Neither of us willing to cross the tide. I, who once proclaimed the peace, Now stand reluctant, words on lease. XXIII I watch your gaze, a distant flame, Perhaps in pain, perhaps in blame. Emotions veiled, far from the light, Lingering somewhere beyond the right. XXIV Should…
XII In the rooms of this quiet house, Where echoes fall like unlit stars, A stillness grows, sharp as frost, Binding the air with invisible scars. XIV Speech, that restless pilgrim, Wanders far from this abode, And in its absence, solitude blooms, A garden where shadows erode. XV I do not fear this cloistered quiet,…
