The year was eighteen seventy-eight
Beneath a ruthless, burning sky
Dry Creek slept, remote and sedate
Where dust danced wild and secrets lie

The air was thick with ghostly tales
Wooden homes and slow-worn feet
A silent sheriff on dusty trails
Where time itself forgot to beat

But fate, unseen with playful hand
Brought to the path a gleaming surprise
A box unmarked, from no known land
...

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The light fades slowly on the horizon
like a farewell, hesitant and forlorn
and the night is born with no hurry to be night
lost in the shadows of what’s yet to be drawn

There’s something in the air, a gentle sigh
an unseen movement drifting through the trees
a secret vanishing with the breeze
perhaps a memory that never learned to fly

Words may fade
but silences still hold their weig...

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In the hole of the common, fear runs deep,
where the voice of the many stirs us from sleep.
Dress the same, speak without spark,
act like the crowd, it's mediocrity's mark.

Alienated souls, proud in their space,
yet some feel the pull and yearn to escape.
Clarity’s a pain, like islands alone,
different in values, they stand out, unknown.

Children are innocent, while the old face disdai...

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