Email Poem

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Poem

I was born with a foreign hunger, inherited from the shadows of those who were,
they placed a dream in my hand like a shining blade and told me to carve my future,
but the metal rusted in my deep sleep, leaving me to waver on paths of mist,
now I chase smoke through iron halls, where ambition drips
from the jaws of broken clocks, time defies me with a grin of merciless gears—
I run, and it devours every step, every moment stolen from me,
I am weary of digging graves and calling them milestones,
when each dug grave is just another reminder of what I have not been,
in a world of rusted dreams where choices are carved in cold stone,
and I, a traveler through stopped clocks, seek light among the ruins,
but only shadows answer me, whispering the burden of unfulfilled desires.

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