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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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Death is a Process

It starts as a whisper, a sigh in the chest,
A heaviness draping the bones into rest.
The eyelids grow weary, the footsteps grow slow,
Each moment of tiredness—death starts to show.

Not sudden, not swift, not a thief in the night,
But patient, persistent, withdrawing the light.
A yawn is a warning, a breath drawn too deep,
A silence that lingers, a pull into sleep.

The weight of existence, the drag of the years,
The aching of muscles, the salt of old tears.
Each weariness felt, each pause in the day,
Is death in rehearsal, just inching its way.

Yet life in defiance keeps pulling us back,
A fire still flickers in moments that lack.
For tiredness lingers, but rising remains,
Until all resistance is lost to the chains.

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