not, love, for summer fades too fast.
The sun may scorch, and blustery winds hold sway,
And beauty's lease but for a moment cast.
But in your eyes, a light that knows no end,
A constant warmth that winter cannot quell.
Your gentle heart, a loyal, steadfast friend,
A deeper beauty does within you dwell.
No fleeting joy, no quickly vanished grace,
But ever present, shining bright and true.
So, let the seasons run their changing race,
My love for you shall ever be anew.
For, you possess a beauty I adore,
That blossoms brighter than before.
Gentle grace
My blessing star, through shadows you appear,
A steady hand when I am lost and weak,
A voice of reason, calming every fear,
A silent comfort that I often seek.
In laughter shared, and tears that freely fall,
Our bond is forged, a treasure to behold.
You lift me up when I begin to stall,
A story whispered, centuries old.
No greater gift than friendship's gentle grace,
A loyal heart, a spirit pure and bright.
You paint a smile upon my weary face,
And fill my days with warmth and hopeful light.
So, thank you, friend, for all you are to me,
Eternally grateful, I will always be.
Breeding a sickness
The screen a mirror, but reflecting dread,
A constant stream of horrors, stark and grim,
Each headline screaming words that fill the head
With shadows dancing on the hopeful hymn.
The news, once meant to guide and to inform,
Now breeds a sickness, creeping in the soul,
Distorting truths and weathering the storm
Of doubt and fear that takes its cruel control.
We build our walls, defensive and withdrawn,
Suspecting neighbours, questioning each face,
The bitter seeds of paranoia sown,
Eroding empathy, displacing grace.
Oh, media's power, use it with such care,
Lest darkness claim us, trapped in our despair.
Shifting sands
The traveller seeks solace in new lands,
A change of scene, a different sky above,
He hopes to bury pain in shifting sands,
And leave behind the echoes of lost love.
He builds a life, a fortress made of stone,
Where worries dare not trespass or intrude,
Yet, in the quiet hours, when he's alone,
The phantom of the past still taunts his mood.
For, though he runs to mountains, sea, or shore,
And changes names and faces in the crowd,
He carries still the burden at his core,
A troubled soul, within a silent shroud.
Thus, flight is vain, a temporary ease,
For, self remains, the captive of unease.
Seamless processes
The gears now turn, not by a craftsman's hand,
But coded lines, a logic cold and clean.
Machines ascend, and at their stark command,
The tedious tasks, the drudgeries, unseen.
But as we yield the burdens to the byte,
And algorithms sculpt our daily bread,
Do we not trade a portion of our light,
For ease and comfort, fearlessly instead?
The human touch, the flaw, the gentle bend,
The spark of insight born of weary toil,
Are lost to seamless processes that lend
Efficiency, yet steal from fertile soil.
Automation's promise, bright and bold,
Leaves questions lingering: What price is sold?
A treasure to unfold
In halls of thought, where knowledge softly gleams,
A student's mind, a garden yet to bloom,
With eager heart, it chases after dreams,
And banishes the shadows of the gloom.
The books piled high, a treasure to unfold,
Each page a step on pathways yet unknown,
With every lesson, stories to be told,
And seeds of wisdom carefully are sown.
Through weary nights and days of focused gaze,
The student strives to conquer every height,
To build a future bright in countless ways,
And banish doubt with understanding's light.
So, let us learn, with passion as our guide,
And let our knowledge be our endless pride.
A bridge across the years
The wrinkles etched, a map of years gone by,
Reflect in eyes that gleam with youthful fire.
One seeks the shore where memories gently lie,
The other burns with unspent, bold desire.
The aged hand, a steady, knowing guide,
Can offer wisdom earned through life's long test,
While youthful feet, on passion's surging tide,
Can leap and dance and put all dreams to test.
A fragile bond, a bridge across the years,
Where solace found and understanding grows.
The young find comfort, calming all their fears,
The old relive what time now gently shows.
So, let them meet, beneath the sun's warm grace,
And find in each a purpose and a place.
A source of inner light
When shadows fall and doubts begin to rise,
And weary whispers try to steal my will,
I clench my fist and fix my gaze on skies,
Determined still, my purpose to fulfill.
Though stumbles mark the path I have to tread,
And