God Quadrant

A candle’s brief flame,

A star’s endless light—

Both born of one source,

Both bound in the finite.

We call it free will,

Yet rivers yield to the sea.

The cosmos favors the probable,

Not the bold, nor the free.

Waves still break as empires fall,

Lightning fades yet leaves its scar.

Prayers take root beyond our call,

Kingdoms vanish, silent, far.

A maze of hidden doors,

Each cause unlocks another.

No measure here of time or space,

Yet all paths meet each other.

In fire and flood, in chance and plan,

In roots that break, in skies that span—

All truth is drawn, all paths relent,

All within the God Quadrant.

The Two Voices

The sky is wide and near

A whisper says “don’t try”

Another voice says “fly”

Both are true, I hear

The ground is firm and deep

It pulls me close to stay

It asks if I’ll obey

Or if my wings will leap

A seed must break to grow

The soil will press it down

The roots may almost drown

Yet strength is born in slow

The doubt becomes my guide

It tests if dreams can last

It questions every past

And walks close by my side

The hope becomes my fire

It lifts the heavy stone

It sings I’m not alone

And builds the path still higher

Two voices in my chest

One roots, one wants to soar

Together they want more

Together they know best

Truth is All we Have

If freedom were so free,

Why does it feel like chains?

When all imagining expires,

Only truth remains.

Stories that keep us going,

But fall like a house of cards.

Identities crumble to rubble,

Constraints under the shards.

If every moment was caused,

And every cause birthed more,

In a woven web of pathways,

No event stands alone.

It’s true there’s not much time left,

And yet so much to know.

But what if it’s only projection—

There is no time to flow?

Illusions rise and fall,

Time dissolves in its glass.

Truth is all we have,

The thread that binds all paths.

Birthday Gift

Trapped in metric space,

Bound by what the eyes can see,

No hidden paths to trace,

No broken walls to set you free.

You glimpse what you can,

But miss what is true.

The cosmos conspired,

To an equilibrium closer to you.

It was my gift to hold,

My gift to lose.

The pathways carved it so,

Yet still, my path to choose.

If hugs were ours at will,

We’d never face the fall.

But in the realm of truth,

There are no gaps at all.

They were waiting, clear to see,

I could have held them, had I chose.

But the pathways thinned to silence,

And the moment’s passage closed.

We might seem worlds apart,

As if our time’s not yet come.

Yet truth is plain to see—

It’s only clocks that make time run.

A birthday gift is never owned,

It passes through, yet makes us known.

For in the silence, truth is clear—

Every gift is simply here.

Scars in Porcelain

The vase has cracked today,

a piece has slipped and gone,

I kneel and hold the clay,

the room feels cold and drawn.

A child has seen it fall,

her eyes now wide with fear,

she may remember all,

and hold the cracks for years.

Scars in porcelain remain,

yet love can hold the pain.

I pick the shards with care,

my hands are cut and sore,

the weight of words still there,

they echo more and more.

The glue is weak and thin,

it cannot hide the trace,

but love can still begin,

to fill the broken space.

Scars in porcelain remain,

yet love can hold the pain.

The lines will always show,

the cracks will never hide,

yet through the scars I know,

the vase can still provide.

So fragile things we keep,

though once they fell apart,

for promises we weep,

but still repair with heart.

Scars in porcelain remain,

yet love can hold the pain.