Once Upon a Poet’s Dream

Once Upon a Poet’s Dream

It wasn’t sleep, it was spark,

words kicking walls in the dark,

lines that bit, lines that burned,

pages twisted, truth returned.

The dream wasn’t gentle,

it punched through the seams,

built from a pen

and a poet’s cracked dreams.

No silver crowns, no velvet thrones,

just broken streets and ringing phones,

voices wired, raw and clear,

stories no one wants to hear.

Alive in ink, born from dust,

driven by love, torn by trust,

I made this world with nothing more

than a poet’s thoughts, a pen to war.

And still it breathes, still it fights,

on empty days and sleepless nights.

No fairy tale, no silent streams,

this is life,

once upon a poet’s dream.

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