A silver sickle hangs suspended,
Sharp against velvet black—
Its pearlescent curve
Beckons to earthbound souls below.
Honed edges slice through starlit fields,
Where cosmic wheat sways silent,
Each grain a distant sun
Waiting to be gathered.
The blade, both guard and reaper,
Cuts through darkness like frost through morning—
Its gentle radiance
Sweeping shadows aside like chaff.
When the harvester rises,
Stars scatter like seeds,
And night yields its bounty
To the ancient gleaner above.
Iron clicks into place Each night, a ritual of fear Through peepholes we peer At shadows wearing familiar faces No dragons lurk in darkness No witch...Read more
At the bus stop stood a figure Standing out among Elegant in a dress that signifies the sun Glittering ice of winter A masterwork of art Epitome of ...Read more
What if trust is a curse Can't tell what hurts the most again The truth or the mysterious lies An action of now ended a beginning A De Javu before m...Read more
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Dusk bleeds across the horizon As we scramble against fading light Our footsteps echo urgency Against time's relentless flight But wait— What is thi...Read more
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