Shouldn't be said

 

Grain by grain

 

Giggle house

 

Misery accounting

In PharmaCorp's high-rise, the board convened, 

To weigh the fate of OxyRelief, unseen. 

Mister Greaves, with profits keen, 

Sat at the head, his gaze sharp and mean.

Doctor Carter rose, her voice clear and bright, 

"Addiction's risk, we cannot slight. 

The data shows the dangers in sight, 

This path, if taken, writes a tragic plight."

Greaves countered, eyes fixed on gains, 

"Our shareholders demand we seize the reins. 

The market's ripe, the profit remains, 

We'll manage risks, despite the pains."

"Patients' lives at stake, we must be sure," 

Doctor Carter pressed, her data pure. 

"Efficacy's debatable, addiction's lure, 

Our duty's to protect, not just procure."

The room grew tense, the stakes were high, 

Debate on ethics, profits, and why. 

Yet Greaves, with greed, the final sigh, 

"OxyRelief will launch, no matter the cry."

The decision made, the boardroom's fate, 

A choice for wealth, while lives abate.

Finite Beings, Bounded Thoughts

Finite beings, within worldly confines, 

Yet our minds ascend to limitless lines,

Whispers in the twilight, winds waltz free, 

Boundless dreams embrace our destiny.

Galaxies dance in a celestial spree, 

Time's thief ticks on, a mystery, 

Memories dance, like shadows' play, 

Chasing dawn through the end of day.

Endless series, numbers unfold, 

In the dance of thoughts, eternally bold, 

Black holes whisper secrets vast, 

Gravity bends, questions amassed.

Finite beings, beginnings clear, 

Within time’s grasp, the end draws near, 

Cycles of life, nature's embrace, 

Treading paths with finite grace.

Perception’s limits, senses confined, 

Yet curiosity sparks the boundless mind, 

Finite moments, time's embrace, 

Striving to leave an infinite trace.

Ideal forms, philosophers' dreams, 

Reality stretches to infinite extremes, 

Infinity teases a distant shore, 

Finite beings, ever explore.

In the dance of defined and limitless sway, 

Finding meaning, forging a way, 

Through realms of thought, wonder’s flight, 

Finite beings seek infinite light.

Absorbing Heights

On a high cliff where eagles dare to fly, Nestlings readied wings, to leap into the sky. Mother eagle taught, with wisdom and care, "First, see the world as it is, out there."

First came Fleetfoot, eager to be free, "Quick and nimble," with no time to see. Ignoring wind and weather, he flapped with delight, But missed the brewing storm, hidden from sight.

The skies turned gray, and the winds began to roar, Fleetfoot struggled, his wings grew sore. Down he tumbled, through dark and vast clouds, Learning too late, he moved too fast, proud.

Then came Deepthought, thoughtful and slow, "Careful and cautious," afraid to go. He weighed every option, thought of every plight, But overthinking kept him grounded through the night.

Stars began to twinkle, the day turned to dusk, Deepthought stayed, trapped in his mental husk. When morning came, the food was all gone, He missed the chance to fly, from dusk till dawn.

Next was Daydream, lost in sights and sounds, "Curious and captivated," looking all around. He marveled at the mountains, rivers, and sky, But failed to see dangers lurking nearby.

A shadow swooped, a predator on the prowl, Daydream barely escaped, with a frightened yowl. In his dreamy daze, he'd nearly met his end, Learning that distractions were no eagle's friend.

Finally came Watchful, calm and composed, "Mindful and measured," in the moment, he rose. He watched and listened, noting all he could, Absorbing the world's secrets, as any wise eagle should.

He saw the hunting spots, nests for rest, He knew where mates and predators were best. With confidence and grace, he took his first flight, Soaring through the skies, in the golden light.

In Via Flaminia’s Shadow

Along the ancient Flaminian stones,

A tradesman drags his weary bones,

With kin in tow, their steps a plea,

From Rome’s fierce grasp they strive to flee.

Though not a Christian, he's assumed,

By minds that are easily consumed.

His Jewish faith, a humble trade,

In Nero's Rome, a fearsome blade.

The whispers of the crowd take flight,

Accusing those who shun the light.

“Magician! Sorcerer! Christian’s kin,”

They fail to see the truth within.

His heart is heavy, soul grown cold,

With nowhere known to be his goal.

Perhaps to Scythia's distant plains,

Or Germany's bleak, unknown terrains.

Then in the distance, footsteps pound,

A legionnaire with face unbound.

Returning to his Roman pride,

From family left in countryside.

Their eyes do meet, moments shared,

In silence both their souls are bared.

The soldier, driven by duty's call,

Cares not for faith, nor heeds their fall.

The tradesman fears the Roman's might,

While fleeing from the crowd's cruel spite.

The soldier's gaze, a steely stare,

The family's fear, a silent prayer.

In that fleeting glance, tension unfolds,

Each with their fate, their story told.

One marches forth, to Rome returns,

One flees the fate that cruelly burns.

The legionnaire, with gaze so stern,

Sees but a man whose heart does yearn.

And in that silent, somber pause,

A brief reprieve from Nero’s laws.

But duty calls, and he moves on,

The tradesman's family quickly gone.

With doubled pace, they flee the dread,

Of Rome's fierce grasp that they have fled.