Gone Today. Here Tomorrow.

No crown fits in a grave.
The knees at last behave.
The hand that ruled falls slack.
No kingdom answers back.

Here today. Gone tomorrow.

A shut fist posed as thrift,
and starved the hands that lift.
A closed door claimed respect,
and left the sick unchecked.

A name cut deep in stone
can't hush a single groan.
The witnesses remain
where iron wears the stain.

Here today. Gone tomorrow.

The palm curled, fold by fold,
around what it could hold.
The fingers learned the shape.
The grip forgot escape.

Gone today. Here tomorrow.

The pulse goes. Nothing lies.
The tongue sheds disguise, dries.
The years give up the dead.
The debt collects instead.

The crown falls with the head.
The wreaths rot overhead.

If you’ve been reading and enjoying my work,

this is the moment to become a paid subscriber.

Your support helps me keep writing essays, poems,

and ideas that take time, care, and courage to create.

And I’m paying it forward:

for every 15 new paid subscribers,

I’ll become a paid subscriber to another independent writer.

Your support doesn’t stop here — it strengthens the whole writing community.

or