”FROM DUST TO DEFIANCE”
Kings crumble into grit,
and the day slips
through open hands
as if the world were
built on a slope
we never agreed to climb.
One choice becomes a maze
we pace for years,
holding debates with night‑birds
that perch just out of reach.
A man worries over love,
storms, and stories of the deep;
a duke mutters a truth
he should have buried;
beauty darkens at the edges
late like dusk,
and even a bird’s bright call
turns the hour sharp.
Death arrives with courteous posture,
offering a seat as though
this were a gentle errand
and not the oldest crossing.
Soldiers ride toward a horizon
that will not open for them,
and the hours we have
dropped behind us
gather like stones in a pocket.
But then—flowers lift
their small colours,
and something inside us
stirs toward motion.
We learn the countless ways
to hold and be held,
to answer weight with steadiness,
to stand where pressure
once pushed us flat.
We celebrate the rough,
bright fact of being human,
the way a spirit can stay upright
even when the ground
argues otherwise.
Before the wide dark,
we build our unruly haven,
refusing the soft drift
toward a quiet end.
The path ahead is long,
the woods unlit,
yet the inner helm
stays firm in the hand.
Life is brief, yes—
and still, we
carry our vows forward.
.