03/03/2026
Golden sun melting through the trees,
Whispering fire in the morning breeze,
Two souls resting where the wild hills sigh,
Under a painted amber sky.
Wooden bench on a mountain high,
Shadows dance as the day goes by,
One with a mask and a silent grin,
One with a gaze thatβs deep within.
Arms stretched wide like we own the air,
No need for words, just being there,
Grass and dust at our wandering feet,
Where calm and chaos gently meet.
In the hush of the fading light,
We borrow gold from the edge of night,
Strangers maybe, or brothers in rhyme,
Paused in a frame outside of time. π
