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The Trap

The evening air was cool and the night quiet as John got into his BMW convertible on his way to pick up his girlfriend Anna on a date, he was running late. The top was already down, a final, unnecessary effort to appear carefree. He had promised Anna they’d be at her favorite Italian place by 8:30, and his phone’s digital clock glared 8:41. He cursed under his breath. It had been his fault—he’d lost track of time playing video games. He peeled out of his driveway, his tires gripping the asphalt with an urgent squeal. As he sped down the residential street, his mind was a blur of excuses he could offer. An important work call. Unforeseen traffic. Anything but the truth. He reached the main road, a wide, empty stretch that curved around the outskirts of town before leading into the city center. He pushed the accelerator, the powerful engine roaring to life. Just as he was about to hit the straightaway, a flash of movement caught his eye. A small dog, a terrier mix, darted into the street...
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Lake Tahoe

  Across the Carson Range, the peaks stood tall, And gave a glimpse of the lake below, in thrall. A mountain drive with a panoramic view, Of Lake Tahoe's turquoise and endless blue. Past Emerald Bay, with its Vikingsholm walls, And Inspiration Point, the vista calls. We stopped to marvel at the jewel-like hue, And drank the scenery, so crisp and new. The air was fresh with the scent of pine, A symphony of nature, so divine. On sandy shores, we watched the waves at play, And walked the trails, from dawn until the day's last ray. On paddleboards, we saw the depths below, And felt the sun upon our faces glow. At Zephyr Cove, a boat cruise sailed past, A day of wonder, built to truly last. Then came the twilight, with its colors so deep, A quiet moment, promises to keep. The mountains faded, shadows soft and gray, Reflecting memories of a perfect day.
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The Slayed King

  The tyrant on his gilded throne, Ignored the pleas, the tear, the groan. He sowed the seeds of bitter strife, And crushed the hope of common life. The crown that sat upon his head, Was stained with blood the innocent bled. His laughter rang in vaulted halls, While hunger gnawed at peasant walls. But shadows move in quiet ways, And whisper through the endless days. A farmer's son, a widow's child, Remembered all his scorn, so wild. They did not raise a mighty host, Or boast a strength that they could toast. Instead, a single, humble blade, A promise in the darkness made. That night the wind did howl and rage, As actors turned the final page. The wicked king, in fitful sleep, Had secrets that the shadows keep. A whisper first, then cold hard steel, A taste of what the masses feel. No fanfare for his final breath, Just silence and the coming of death. The scepter fell with hollow sound, And shattered on the tiled ground. The crown rolled from his lifeless head, Just one more evi...
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The Dying Castle

  The ivy's green, a slow and silent thief, Has claimed the stones of glory and of grief. The crenellated edges, sharp and high, Are soft with moss beneath a weeping sky. The mighty gate, where banners used to fly, Now frames a vista where the seasons die. The drawbridge rusts, a severed, useless arm, No longer guarding from a world of harm. The wind sings low through arrow-slitted cracks, Recalling ghosts of long-forgotten attacks. The grand banqueting hall, so vast and wide, Has only dust and silent shade inside. The carved and gilded windows, now shattered they are, Allow the rain to wash the broken vow Of endless rule, of power's endless boast, And leave behind a melancholy ghost. The spiral stair, a spine of solid stone, Leads up nowhere, empty and alone. The vaulted roof, where once a fire burned, Is open now, for stars to be discerned. A story told in whispers, slow and deep, While generations sow and fall and sleep. And in the quiet, where the lichens creep, The ancient...
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Beach Day

  Beneath the vast and endless blue, a soft, warm sand greets me anew. The sea exhales a salty, misty breath, that promises a peace defying death. I walk the water's edge, where worries fade, a shifting tapestry of sand displayed. My bare feet sink with each rhythmic stride, as the ocean's voice becomes my guide. A chorus of crashing waves ascends, like distant laughter from forgotten friends. The seagulls call out, a wild and endless cry, circling like poets in the sun-drenched sky. I find a shell with pink and pearly gleam, a tiny echo of an ancient dream. It holds the ocean's hum, a gentle drum, whispering worries, and leaving them numb. The sun, a slow and heavy golden drop, turns the sea to rose-gold, nearing its stop. The light on the water shimmers and recedes, leaving behind a trail of fleeting beads. The horizon blurs where the vast world ends, as the day's warm story gracefully descends. With heart as full as the swelling tide, I carry the sea's peace deep...
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The Treacherous Court

  Upon the high-arched galleries, the whisper starts, A venom meant for unsuspecting hearts. Amidst the jewels and tapestries, a sigh, The silent dagger of a jealous eye. The courtier's smile is polished, bright, and grand, The poisoned cup held firm within his hand. He offers praises like a gilded key, And speaks of loyalty with treacherous eyes. The queen, a portrait framed in silk and lace, Knows not the wolves that haunt her sacred space. Her trusted confidante, with honeyed tone, Has sought for years to claim her ivory throne. The prince, her brother, whispers to the guard, With promises that leave his virtue scarred. The bloodline cracks, the royal house divides, By whispered lies and shifting, treacherous tides. The banquet hall, a feast of glinting knives, Where every gesture plans a thousand lives. The jester, with his bells and painted face, Sees truth in shadows others can't embrace. He sees the hands that touch and then withdraw, The shifting eyes that break the gil...
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The Moon

  A vast and silent pearl is hung, A ghostly bridge to heaven sprung. It fills the sky with borrowed light, And pushes back the creeping night. A silver coin, a dinner plate, A cosmic, pale, and heavy weight. It looks so near, a thing you'd seize, Reflected on the sleeping trees. The craters seem like knowing eyes, To watch the shifting wind-picked skies. A silent witness, round and bright, A guardian through the velvet night. It pulls the oceans, deep and slow, And sets the dreaming world aglow. The big moon hangs, a gentle queen, Upon the midnight's royal scene.
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Trees In The City

  In forests of glass and steel, the modern trees take root, with silent, deep foundations, and branches reaching for the sun. Their trunks are polished granite, their bark a shimmering facade, each window a small leaf that glitters in the urban shade. They whisper with the wind, a low and humming drone, of elevators rising, of whispers on the phone. Through veins of tangled wires, and pipes that carry life, the current flows and pulses, relieving daily strife. No nests are built within them, just floors of busy hive, where human dreams and dollars struggle and survive. They do not shed their foliage, or sleep through winter's chill, they simply stand and prosper, obeying human will. And though no birds may sing there, or squirrels climb their height, they stretch toward the heavens, and catch the fading light.
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