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Heart of Stone

He built his dreams with fire and steel,   Through sweat and pain, through grit and will.   His path was carved with silent nights,   A war he waged beyond the sights.   But love, so sweet, so soft, so near,   Whispered dreams into his ear.   A choice was placed upon his chest—   His passion’s flame, or love’s request.   He turned away from burning light,   Held her close, embraced the night.   Yet soon he found, to his dismay,   Both love and purpose slipped away.   For goals demand a heart of stone,   And love still longs to call its own.   To chase one means to lose the fight,   To hold both tight is rarest might.   So walk the road with eyes aware,   Choose with wisdom, choose with care.   For once you drop what makes you whole,   You lose the fire—and lose your soul.
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Borrowed Air

The poor must smile before they speak,
Their voices soft, their tone made weak.
Each word wrapped up in folded hands,
A humble plea, a meek demand.

They bow their heads, they phrase it right,
Apologies tucked in every bite.
They beg with caution, tread with care,
As if their breath is borrowed air.

But wealth can snarl, can cut, can sneer,
Its words are sharp, its tone severe.
No need for grace, no need for please,
A single glance can bring to knees.

The poor must whisper, wait their turn,
While cold replies let silence burn.
And so, the weight of gold decrees—
Some talk with chains, while others free.

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