Poems

Crimson tide that washed over me,
With gruelling pace, it broke free.
To where life was but a dread,
Not full of miracles, but misery.

Snow-capped, pristine as the Realm above,
Glistening brightly as the Sun greets her,
Tranquil and undisturbed, pure as a dove,
Yet Chaos is not unknown to her,
As she shrouds the graves of unfulfilled dreams;
Of winning her, with her white shroud.

Woke up to the same alarm

in routine there is seldom charm.

Crackle, crackle

The world of online games is permanent.

You look up at the sky,