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Shortage of Breath

The dream of Thomas still clings to the edges of my consciousness, a vivid haunting that left me gasping for air the moment I broke the surface of sleep. While lost in that subconscious encounter, my breathing grew shallow and frantic, mimicking the tiny, staccato inhalations of a mouse as if my lungs had suddenly lost their capacity for depth.  The air became a scarce luxury I couldn't quite reach within the confines of the dream, and the suffocating pressure of those minute, rapid breaths eventually forced my eyes open in a desperate bid for survival. Now, I am left in the quiet dark, my chest heaving to reclaim the oxygen I lost, while the memory of Thomas lingers in the heavy, still air of the room.
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Echoes of a Lanterned Past

Echoes of a Lanterned Past

A nostalgic journey through the charm of antiquity, where lanterns illuminate the night and Shakespeare's legacy enlivens the soul.




In the hush of twilight, lanterns glowed,
Flickering whispers of stories untold,
Wooden wagons, sturdy as the earth,
Rolled through the cobblestone, steeped in mirth.

Horses snorted, rhythm of hooves like heartbeats,
While laughter danced, interweaving with the beats,
Each shadow cast a tapestry of dreams,
Beneath starlit canopies, the world gleams.

Shakespeare's quill inked the essence of night,
Words spun like silk, taking flight in the light,
His voice, a symphony, weaving fate and lore,
Echoing through the ages, forever adored.

The stage adorned with moonlight's silver lace,
Actors emerged, conjured in time and space,
Each line a lantern, each pause a breath,
In the stillness of night, defying death.

From distant lands, their tales would arrive,
To warm the hearts and keep the spirit alive,
As lanterns swayed, memories intertwined,
In every traveler's soul, a world defined.

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