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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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Empty Room

The highest chance of flopping
is when you take the first step—
when the ground beneath you
isn't ground at all
but air,
and the world waits to see
if you'll fly or fail.

You fumble,
not because you're foolish,
but because you're first.
No footprints to follow,
no well-worn path—
only questions echoing
in an empty room.

Hands shake,
voices whisper,
and doubt slithers close,
hissing,
"Who do you think you are?"
But isn't that the point?
To answer by doing—
by daring—
by drowning the whispers
with action.

Yes, you may flop.
Spectacularly.
But in the ruins of the first attempt,
you'll find the blueprints
for the second.

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