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The Rodeo Clown
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he wasn’t there for the glory,hell, no one writes ballads for the painted fool.the cowboy gets the buckle,the bull gets the legend,and he…he gets the hoof printacross the ribs. painted face,a drunk Picasso of red and white,sweat carving little rivers through the grease.he laughs for the crowd,but he ain’t laughingwhen the bull swings its…
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Ode to Labor Day
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Today we pause, beneath late-summer skies,to honor the hands, the hearts, the steady eyes.The builders, the dreamers, the keepers of flame,the nameless, the countless, who shoulder the same. They rise with the dawn, when the streets are still,to hammer, to heal, to craft, to till.Invisible often, yet always in view,the world keeps turning because…
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The Gargoyle
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Stone Guardian’s Love Letter I’ve been up here for centuries,watching your roofs change shape,your towers grow taller,your streets trade horses for engines,and your engines for lightning.I was carved out of the church’s worry,a monster to scare off the night.But the truth is, I love the night.I love this city when the darklays its heavy…
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Where The Quiet Lives
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In a world that spins too fast,where headlines scream and time slips past,there is a sacred kind of gracethe stillness found in your own space. Not silence, but a deeper tone,the voice that hums when you’re alone,when morning light paints soft your skin,and all the noise is drawn within. Find it in the steam…
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With Your Own Eyes
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There comes a time, quiet, slow…when the noise of the world no longer stirs you,when the chase loses its thrill,and you begin to wonderwhat it really meansto be alive. Not to exist.Not to survive.But to live.Fully.Fiercely.With wonder burning behind your eyes. Because peace…real peaceisn’t handed down like a gift.It’s carved,soul-first,from chaos.From heartbreak and stillness,from…