We live the moment...

And capture the memories ❤️

 

Golden Hour

The perfect shot : 

Is to surrender in time.

You sit... You wait... You watch...

For maybe an hour or two of soft patience - 

And just for a flickering moment...

A single shift in the briefest breath of time...

When the ordinary becomes divine—

Just to capture something beautiful.

 

Like Gemini

 But aren’t we all just passing ghosts on earth,

Wearing light to cloak our deeper dirt?

Laughter stitched in porcelain grace,

While silent storms stir behind the face.

We move like echoes through the air,

Threading flaws with strands of prayer.

Adorning our chaos in silken disguise,

Chasing reflections in borrowed skies.

Different hearts, the same old flame,

Whispered truths in a thousand names.

Waging wars with mirrored pain,

All for a crown of fleeting fame.

Aren’t we all shadows veiled in light,

Dancing soft beneath the moon’s white sight?

Carving sanctuaries in slivers of space,

Filling the void with sugar and grace.

Aren’t we all half-masked divine,

Drinking light like sacred wine?

Building temples in our chest,

Filling them with myth and rest.

He is Capricorn — horned and wise,

You are Pisces — born of tides.

Mine is Libra — veiled in air,

Hers an Aries — burning prayer.

And don’t we all wear mirrored skin,

Speak of virtue while sin sits within?

Preach with silver, act with rust,

Holy words, but hearts of dust.

Hypocrites - creatures cloaked in light...

Aren’t we all two-faced... Like Gemini?

The Devil is Never Alone

 The Devil is Never Alone

She smiles in white, but her bones are stone.

Her breath is ash, her crown is thorn —

She labors in shadows, birthing scorn,

And feeds us lies until we mourn.

But the Devil  is Never Alone.

She shuns the light like a cursed unknown,

Carving pits where her spawn are thrown,

Chained in dark where no seed is sown.

And the Devil  is  Never Alone.

So I cloaked my soul in cold defiance,

Whispered fire in midnight silence,

And begged the sky for holy violence.

Let the Heavens wake from it's golden sleep —

Let angels rise, and serpents weep.

Footnotes:

I'll pen my thoughts to prevent violence in times of chaos.

A Murder in Poetry

 I have rehearsed it

a thousand times —

The perfect crime,

The getaway, the alibi.

I rifled through my chest,

Each cavern, every ravine,

For traces of fingerprints

And of guilt I have to leave behind.

I mirrored my soul

As I watched my conscience practice its silhouettes,

In the dark — slow and meticulous,

A confession whispered at night.

I smile at your closed eyes,

Let your ghost dance through the door,

Lit off that lantern,

May you wander, may you get lost.

I do not want my hands stained,

I do not want rain that tastes of iron —

Yet in every epilogue of my poetries,

I have already killed you with a thousand knives.

I will lose myself in the songs

And of the prose I leave like footprints,

And if only thoughts could kill —

Oh my! Then mine would be a quiet genocide.