Lets Go

Mended Treasured Frame.

In a room so bare, I fix my gaze, A wall awaiting a frame’s embrace, Yet I remain seated, lost in thought, Contemplating where this art be brought.

Above my bed or by my chair, To showcase its beauty with tender care, I yearn to find the perfect spot, Where its radiance won’t be forgotten.

Upon floating clouds, my vision aligns, Imagining the frame where it truly shines, But as morning graces the world anew, The frame still lies, unnoticed and askew.

Today, oh today, night’s curtain descends, I stumble upon a sight that rends, My precious frame, shattered and torn, In fragments scattered, dreams forlorn.

Now I must find the time to mend, The splinters scattered, chaos to tend, For on my floor they lay, a scattered array, Awaiting my touch to bring order and sway.

With gentle hands and patient care, I gather the shards, aware of repair, For this frame that holds my treasured art, Shall rise again, healed from its part.

And when it finds its place anew, I’ll gaze upon it, as dreams come true, In every crack, a story reborn, A testament to resilience, worn and torn.

So let the night yield to morning’s light, As I mend the fragments, piece by piece, slight, For my frame shall rise, stronger than before, A testament of strength, forevermore.

The Winning Rose

In the realm of frost and icy disdain,

A tale unfolds of the rose’s reign,

From a barren plain where winter’s might,

Bore a blossom fair, bathed in frozen light.

Born of chill, the rose dared to dream,

To defy the cold, in a world extreme,

Petals of ivory, delicate and rare,

A symbol of beauty, beyond compare.

Amidst the snowflakes, it silently grew,

A beacon of hope, where despair once drew,

Its thorny embrace, a shield from despair,

A symbol of strength, amid winter’s snare.

Through gusts of frost, it unfurled its grace,

With every petal, a smile on its face,

The rose that rose, from the frigid ground,

Whispered secrets of resilience profound.

For in its struggle, a lesson it bore,

That life’s harshest trials can open the door,

To the depths of our souls, where strength resides,

And the fire within, forever abides.

Its fragrance carried on a frosty breeze,

A testament to the heart’s unease,

For the rose that rose from a frozen plain,

Became a beacon of love’s refrain.

Through endless winter, it bloomed with grace,

A symbol of hope in an icy embrace,

And as spring approached, with its gentle kiss,

The rose stood tall, a triumph of bliss.

In the realm of frost, a legend was born,

The rose that rose, a beauty to adorn,

Forever it shines, in hearts and minds,

The rose that rose, where hope entwines.

On the Stage

In the depths of her heart, fear resides,

The darkness engulfs, where shadows collide.

Afraid of the unknown, she trembles inside,

As the dimmest of lights, still cause her to hide.

The brightness that blinds, one shade too bright,

It pierces her soul, fills her with fright.

She shies away from the crowd’s loud cheer,

On the grand stage of pride, she drowns in fear.

A thousand eyes upon her, but her voice is lost,

Silenced by anxiety, a heavy cost.

Yet, she portrays strength, appears so strong,

But deep down, she, too, finds words all gone.

And as you sought to understand her strife,

You discovered your own loss in this life.

Both wandering souls, struggling to be heard, In a world where silence can speak louder than words.

Broken Treasure