There’s gray
in my beard
but no gray
in my soul
Where Peter Pan
flies
Cherub’s wings
in control

My edges
though silver
my center
of gold
One glance
never tells you
what prescience
— beholds

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

Writers write
everyone else
— just talks

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

Keeping
memories close
pushing
people away
I live in  
the safety
of what’s held
at bay

Trading
the future
retreading
the past
Living
nostalgic
for what
cannot last

Each
invitation
each corner
unturned
Calls to me
distant
calls to me
spurned

But I keep
on running
retracing
old steps
As voices
still follow
in search
— of me yet

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

What is a color
obstructed
What is a sonnet
untold
What is the price
of reluctance
Tainted in silver
or gold

What is the weight
of your damming
What is a blessing
unused
What is the lifespan
of choices unmade
Measured in freedom
— recused

(The First Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)

Stuck to
myself
the glue starts
to lift
Exposing
my nature
a soul
frozen stiff

Letting
me go
the dermis
strips off
The sun
rushing in
melting
the frost

Open
to light
new Angels
take hold
Rebuilding
my past
the future
remolds

All dread in
the mirror
now turned to
the wall
My essence
unfrozen
and prescience
— rethawed

(The New Room: July, 2025)

Averting
his death
reborn
in a dream
Time
had been stopped
the Reaper
unseen

Escaping
the end
his fancy
came true
Beginning
and ending
unbroken
— anew

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

All that awaits
are the memories
All that’s left
still unclaimed
All that I treasure
lay buried inside
All in those choices
— unmade

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)