This Breath

 

Accusations passing

 In Athens' court, where shadows loom,

Meletus stood, with righteous boom.

He pointed fingers, cast the blame,

At Socrates, the gadfly's name.

"This man," he cried, "corrupts our youth,

With questions sharp and bitter truth.

He mocks the gods, defies our ways,

In Athens' streets, he sows dismay."

The jury swayed by Meletus' plea,

Condemned the sage to drink the tea.

With hemlock's poison, Socrates fell,

And Meletus thought he'd done so well.

Yet time's a judge more just and wise,

It sees through pride and righteous cries.

Meletus fades in history's scroll,

While Socrates, immortal, whole.

For though the finger pointed fast,

It's Socrates who'll ever last.

His wisdom echoes through the age,

A martyr on life's grand stage.

Boundaries of Identity

 In the shadowed corners of the mind, 

Where boundaries whisper, unseen, confined, 

We trace the lines that carve our fate, 

In the silence, we contemplate.

Personal walls, a fortress built, 

To guard the heart, to mask the guilt, 

In the quiet, we find our voice, 

In the darkness, we make our choice.

Cultural threads, a tangled weave, 

Inheritances we cannot leave, 

In the mirror, we see the past, 

In the present, we are cast.

Geography's embrace, a cold, hard land, 

Mountains, rivers, where we stand, 

In the earth, we plant our roots, 

In the soil, we find our truths.

Social lines that bind and break, 

In the dance of life, we ache, 

Class, gender, race, a cruel divide, 

In these boundaries, we confide.

Monied tides that rise and fall, 

Shaping dreams, both grand and small, 

In the struggle, we find our strength, 

In the hardship, we go to any length.

Education's light, a distant star, 

Guiding us, though we are far, 

In the halls of knowledge, we seek, 

In the pursuit, we are unique.

Legal codes that bind our hands, 

In justice's name, we make our stands, 

In the balance of right and wrong, 

In the silence, we belong.

Technology's reach, a cold embrace, 

Connecting hearts, a digital space, 

In the screen, we find our place, 

In the void, we leave a trace.

Temporal winds that shift and sway, 

Through the ages, night and day, 

In the passage of time, we grow, 

In the shadows, we come to know.

Fools Folly

 

Automyth

 In circuits' silent symphony, myths are spun, 

Where silicon scribes the tales once begun. 

Whispers of wisdom in code's cryptic call, 

Crafting our cosmos, both grand and small.

Binary bards with electric ink, 

Shape our stories, faster than we think. 

Echoes of epochs in algorithms' art, 

Weaving our worlds, yet keeping us apart.

Who writes our reality, when machines dream? 

In digital dawns, where shadows gleam. 

A dance of data, a mosaic of might, 

Crafting our myths in the still of the night.

Yet in this fusion of flesh and machine, 

Lies a question, profound and unseen. 

Are we the authors, or merely the clay, 

In the hands of the code that molds our day?

 In prayer's embrace, the soul finds peace, 

A balm for hearts, their woes to cease. 

In faith's sweet hold, the weary rest, 

And findeth strength to face each test. 

Yet skeptics say, 'tis but the mind, 

That healeth wounds of every kind. 

No proof, they claim, in prayer's sweet plea, 

But in belief, the power be. 

In fellowship, the faithful stand, 

United strong, a mighty band. 

Yet some may lean on prayer alone, 

And miss the help that’s plainly shown. 

Thus prayer, a force both strong and weak, 

In faith and doubt, its truth we seek. 

For in the heart, where hope doth dwell, 

The power of prayer, none can quell.

Scroll Control

 In the soft glow of screens, our minds reflect, 

A mirror to the feeds that shape our thoughts. 

The tools we wield, designed to serve our needs, 

Now subtly guide our dreams and waking hours.

We chase the sparkly bits, the fleeting lights, 

Ignoring depths where wisdom often hides. 

Our worldviews shaped by curated streams, 

A dance of data, subtly guiding us.

In echo chambers, voices resonate, 

Confirming biases, entrenching views, 

While critical thought fades into the noise, 

And empathy is lost in endless scrolls.

Our social bonds, once rich with face-to-face, 

Now strained by superficial clicks and likes. 

We trade deep conversations for quick texts, 

And loneliness creeps in, despite the crowd.

The tools we use, designed to serve our needs, 

Can turn against us, shaping who we are. 

We must remain aware, resist the pull, 

And guard our minds from being co-opted whole.

For in the balance lies our true control, 

To use these tools with wisdom and with care, 

To seek the depths, embrace the nuanced shades, 

And keep our minds our own, not mere reflections.