Beat
(still)
Beat
(still)
Listen—
Can you hear it?
Life.
From nothing.

Pause—
sit
within
the
emptiness.

Let
it
become
the
bea­t
and
the
(still)

Eyes, wide with wonder.
A heart beats
to the rhythm
of tiny,
pitter-patter feet.

Beat
(still)
Beat
(still)
Listen—
Can you hear it?
Life.
From everything.

I will dress you day
in a golden light
with your
chipping of birds
and Trafic picking up speed
I will dress you
in your bare nakedness
cold feet and warm tender skin
I will dress you in anticipation
when now I feel you so near
That your love will pass through me
And into you
day

When a noble heart is betrayed,
He runs not home, but feeds the flame.

Toward the low, he throws his grace,
A furious fall from a higher place.

As if to curse what once was pure,
To make his past no longer endure.

Not for pleasure, not for thrill
But to punish the light it once stood still.

I am not broken; the world is.
Every day, it’s a new trend, whether worthless or rich,
Whether Black or white, dull or bright.
Every day is a new battle, a storm in a sea of dreams.
Dreams which get lost among the crowd of mindless bees.

The unfortunate truth is, the world favours aesthetics.
Whether in your work or in your deary beak.
Each day it’s a new goal, whether money, happiness, or ******,
But I ask, where is the genuine, the giddy, and the fulfilled?
Lost in the wildfire of fleeting faces and smoke-choked dreams?

Where are the joyful, the dreamers, and the poets?
Lost in the world of the weary, the cynic, and the skeptics?
But finally, I see the truth, the infallible truth—
Hidden behind the layers, lies, buzz, and noise,
That I am not broken; the world is.

When spirit called, I chose the flame,
To walk the earth and bear a name.
But did I see the depths ahead—
The nights so dark, the tears I’d shed?

To feel the ache that breaks apart
The boundless edges of the heart.
To lose myself, to fall, to grieve—
And still, in silence, not to leave.

Like stars that fall yet do not die,
Like wings that form before they fly,
I sank into the chrysalis—
A holy womb of pain and bliss.

Yes — I knew. I heard the song.
That pulled my soul where I belong.
To feel what angels only dream:
The raw divine in each extreme.