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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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Manicured. Pristine. Elite.

The grass looks greener across the way,
Lush and thick, no hint of decay.
But step too close, take a deep inhale—
The scent will tell a different tale.

Beneath the shine, beneath the glow,
Lies filth you’re not supposed to know.
Manicured, pristine, elite—
Yet every root drinks composted deceit.

You envy what seems polished, bright,
A picture bathed in perfect light.
But polish fades, and light distorts—
Behind the scenes, a different sort.

There is always some shit—believe it’s true,
Whether theirs, or mine, or even you.
No plot is pure, no field is clean,
Every garden hides the unseen.

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