I dwell in the silence,
enveloped by the four walls
in this room day after day,
translating the weight
of what others might say.
Eyes on the patterns in
the fractals of design,
where a ghost\'s
memories entangle with
mine.
I traverse a terrain
I plotted in ink,
tethered to a horizon
that forces me to blink.
I am not sculpted
in the shape I thought I
might see,
but the weathered reflection
of who I must be.
Strike me against the
iron anvil at night,
and watch how the sparks
shimmer and take flight.
I am the furnace—
the heat in the core,
the branding iron
of syntax, forging the
landscape of love\'s lore.