Awakening is not always gentle. It can be a storm, a fire, a tide that cannot be stopped. These poems explore the moments when the veil lifts, when illusions shatter, and when we find ourselves standing at the edge of something new. Stronger, wiser, and unafraid.
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Darkened skies slice with a roar, Spirits howling through their hollowed core. Winds of sage, cleansing the air, Rosemary lingers—remembrance laid bare. Thyme in the rubble, courage reborn, The storm reshapes the battle-worn.
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A border “czar’s” flaccid threat. Revere’s ride echoes once more. As red coats shift to red ICE hats, Return five riding spirits of yore.
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A beastly wound too long left in the dark. Aptly hidden beneath stitched-up lies, splitting apart.
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Tired and battle-worn, a lone ship sails seas laden with storms.
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Exhaustion is my name, crisis is their blatant scheme. No rules, no breaks, no mercy— the same storm, a ceaseless theme.
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As I sit and ponder my last dream, Swirls inside “Echoes of an Awakening”. The night has dawned on shifting tides; Behind the emerald shroud, the wizard hides.
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Eerie whispers, spectral signs Echo through my tangled mind. A chilling sigh out of tune, Haunting melodies entwined.
my letters from beyond the fire 