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She Longs To Be Free

She paints a life in soft-spun gold,   A dream where love won’t lose its hold.   She speaks of mornings, hand in hand,   Of simple joys, a life well-planned.   She whispers of a quiet home,   Of love that never needs to roam.   She swears that all she wants is me,   But I can see—she longs to be free.   Her eyes drift past the life she draws,   A longing laced between her pause.   She craves the world beyond our door,   Yet tells herself she wants no more.   No walls can hold a restless heart,   No love can make her torn soul part.   She wants this life—she swears it's true,   But deep inside, she’s passing through.
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Hole-in-one

The amateur dreams of a single shot,
A fleeting glory, a moment caught.
A hole-in-one, their heart’s delight,
A fleeting spark in the endless night.

But the pro walks steady, the game in stride,
No fleeting moment their source of pride.
For in each swing, in every round,
Mastery’s echoes are quietly found.

To play the course, to know its soul,
To conquer each challenge, to claim control.
Prestige is not in a shot that’s rare,
But in the club where their name holds care.

The pro’s heart beats with a steady hum,
Not for a moment, but for what’s to come.
For skill and honor will always last,
More than a fleeting, glorious past.

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