Bonsai's Lament

 I was meant to be a tree,

roots deep, branches wild,a

 whisper in the forest,

dancing free with the wind.

But you craved a quiet beauty,
a tamed soul in a porcelain home.
So you silenced my longing,
trimmed my cries into hush,
bound my roots in shallow earth.

My bark bears the scars of your shears,
my leaves darken with longing,
hungry for the breath of open sky.
Yet, in your world of careful order,
I bloom—small, obedient, still.

I am art, I am captive,
a wilderness carved into grace.
A tree that never touched the sky,
yet sits adorned in your gaze.

Red-inked quill

The red-inked quill

spills the rage of love,

as Cupid tumbles from heaven,

his arrows piercing hearts—

searing love’s tender face,

bleeding its fragile wrists.

Love dissolves in a dark, creamy syrup,

its poison rising like mist,

twisting through veins

with the hunger to avenge,

to wound, to kill—

all in love’s forsaken name.