Song of Creation's Dawn

 The waters parted, the land was shown,

The hills arose, the fields were grown.

Creation’s voice unveiled the day,

Its song arose along the way.

The soil was fresh, the seed took root,

The meadow sang, the tree bore fruit.

The valleys spread, the rivers ran,

Creation’s voice revealed earth to man.

 

Crown of Daylight

Daylight descends as a diadem, a living crown laid upon the earth.

The clouds part like veils, unveiling the sovereign fire that rules the day.

Hills bow in silence, valleys lift their faces, and meadows shimmer in the golden breath.

Time itself is braided into radiance, each moment a jewel in the crown.

The forest hums beneath the streaming blaze, shadows retreat into gentleness,

and the world, newly adorned, wears its luminous dominion with grace.

Nocturne of Gentle Luminary

Gentle luminary,

your path across the still waves

marks the quiet hours.

Stars attend with patient light,

time unfolds in silent grace. 

 

Breath of the Fifth Day

Storm-wrought sky,
veined with the blue fire of becoming,
where the wind’s mouth opens—
and out of the tumult, wings unfurl:
a phoenix, blazing,
rises from the heart of cloud,
its feathers a hymn of flame,
each beat scattering embers
into the churning dark.

Dragons coil in the thunder’s throat,
their scales catching the lightning’s edge,
serpentine, radiant,
they spiral through the storm’s hall,
breath of fire and vapor,
their eyes bright with the memory of stars.
Seagulls wheel and cry,
white as the foam of vanished seas,
daring the gale,
their laughter a thread
between tempest and dawn.

Below, the world’s first waters
glow with a secret sun—
currents swirling in green and gold,
where shadows bloom and vanish.
Sea serpents, long as rivers,
twine through the kelp’s forest,
their bodies a dance of muscle and myth,
each scale a story
written in the language of tides.

Fish, jeweled and swarming,
flicker in shoals—
sapphires, rubies, coins of living light—
their fins whispering the first songs
of hunger and delight.
Moon-jellies drift,
phantoms in the luminous dark,
while a beast vast as wonder
stirs in the abyss,
its breath a slow thunder
that rocks the bones of the world.

Above and below,
the breath moves—
not wind, not water,
but the pulse that calls
from storm to sea,
from fire to fin,
from the silence before to the riot of now.
Let the waters bring forth,
let the sky be broken open—
let every creature rise,
winged or finned,
in the wild abundance
of the fifth day.

Here, in the clash of elements,
in the meeting of flame and flood,
life leaps from the mouth of chaos—
not tamed, not named, 
but glorious,
each form a question,
each movement a praise.

O, breath of the fifth day—
carry us,
as you carried the first wings and scales,
through storm and glow,
through terror and beauty,
into the world’s fifth morning.

 

The Still Hour

A quiet lake stretches out under a clear blue sky, its surface dappled with lily pads and delicate blooms—white, pink, yellow—like scattered thoughts drifting in the sun. 

Around it, tall grasses lean gently, and trees in full autumn dress crowd the edges, their leaves glowing in every shade of fire and gold. Some still cling to green, reluctant to let go. 

The air feels crisp, but the light is warm, casting soft reflections and shadows that ripple with the breeze. It’s the kind of place that holds its breath, waiting for someone to notice how still and alive it is. 

In the corner, a small “AK” signature whispers that someone already did.

Autumn stillness

A peaceful stillness, golden, soft, and wide,
No wind disturbed the grasses by the shore.
The trees stood hushed in amber’s quiet pride,
While lilies bloomed where silence touched the floor.

Then light descended, brushing sky with flame,
A mirrored blue upon the water’s face.
The leaves, like sparks, obeyed the season’s name,
And time slowed down to match the pond’s embrace.

The reeds stood watch, as if they knew the spell,
While shadows danced beneath the lily’s crown.
Each petal sang what words could never tell—
A fleeting truth before the sun sank down.

Thus nature signed her name with quiet grace,
And “AK” marked the edge of time and place.

 City of Translucent Realms

City of Hidden Light

Beneath the bridge, the water holds its breath,

in gradients of dusk and flame it dreams.

The skyline hums, not loud, but deep as death,

its towers stitched with soft, elusive beams.

No sun commands this city’s measured pace,

no moon bestows her silver on the stone.

Yet every pane reflects a secret grace,

each shadow sings a light it’s never shown.

The colors rise, then fall in hush and hue—

a bloom of red, a breath of patient green.

The night forgets, but memory breaks through,

in flickers where the soul has once been seen.

So walk this bridge, and feel the silence bend—

the hidden light is yours, and does not end.

The City Where Geometry Blooms

Where towers rise like petals spun,
and bridges stretch beneath the sun,
the city hums in colored light—
a bloom of form, a dream in flight.

Its buildings wear mosaic skin,
with scales of thought and hues within.
Each angle bends, each surface sings,
beneath the sky’s unfolding wings.

The river flows through mirrored days,
reflecting reds and pastel haze.
It carries blues the clouds once shed,
and whispers green where gardens spread.

No rule constrains this blooming place,
where math and feeling interlace.
Each curve a breath, each line a tune—
a city shaped by sun and moon.

So walk its streets with open eyes,
where wonder lives and logic flies.
For here, beneath the painted dome,
geometry has found  bloom in stone.

 

My City Future

🌿 The Nostalgia of Future — Free Verse      .

The city breathes in glass and leaf,

its lungs made of terraces,

its veins of riverlight.

We built it from memory—

not of what was,

but of what we hoped would be.

The bridge does not divide,

it gathers:

a gesture of connection

between mirrored dreams.

Petals drift like thoughts

we forgot to finish,

and the water listens

without judgment.

Above, towers lean into sky

like children reaching for stories

they’ve only heard in whispers.

And somewhere in the silence,

a future exhales—

soft, green,

forgiving.

🌤️ The Nostalgia of Future — Lyrical Refrain

And we remember forward,

we remember forward,

the way petals once dreamed of pavement,

and clouds rehearsed the shape of cities.

We remember the hush

before the blueprint spoke,

the breath of bridges

not yet drawn.

We remember forward,

we remember forward,

how glass became gentle,

how towers learned to bend

toward light.

And in that memory,

the future blooms

Three Bridge Sonnets

My City Unreal Dream

 

My City Dream. White night

 

My City Dream. White night #2

 

My City Dream # 2

 

My City dream. Autumn

 

My City dream

Beneath the skyline’s silver gleam,

A lily river reflects my dream—

Stone bridge arched in quiet grace,

Leading me to time and space.

Glass towers rise like modern scrolls,
Etching futures, daring souls.
Yet ivy clings to brick and beam,
Whispering stories in the stream.

I walk where prairie winds once roamed,
Where jazz and justice found a home.
Each brick, each historic street,
A pulse where past and present meet.

The water’s mirror speaks my name,
A canvas calm, yet set aflame.
I paint with light, with ink, with air—
My city's breath is everywhere.

From Chinatown’s lantern glow,
To murals where bold colors flow,
I blend tradition, tech, and lore—
A city muse forevermore.

So let me build with brush and rhyme,
A future rooted deep in time.
Where art and heart and skyline stream—
This is my loving city dream.

 

Sunrise. Mount Fuji Reflection # 2

 

Patchwork wave

 

The Golden Breath of Passing Season

 

 Autumn Crimson Leaves

Veil of Autumn

 

Whispers of Savanna