The lighthouse stands alone,
its light cutting through the stillness,
facing the frozen lake,
where waves have stopped,
quiet as forgotten dreams.
The ships are gone,
their paths erased by winter’s hand,
and only the keeper remains.
The Grip of January Read More »
Poetry
The soft, smooth curve of your flesh beneath my hand,
Each strike a rhythm, a pulse, a steady command.
A shiver travels up your spine, sweet and slow,
As the sound of skin meeting skin begins to grow.
Your breath catches, a whisper of pleasure, so near,
In the air, your soft moans, a song I long to hear.
A new dawn breaks, it is New Year’s Day,
The promise of twenty twenty-five is here to stay.
Raise a glass to the moments that shaped our past,
But do not dwell, for those days are gone fast.
With every challenge that lies in the way,
Embrace the unknown, come what may.
Each setback a lesson, each stumble a guide,
Let hope and ambition be your joyful stride.