Listen to poem:
Riders Beneath the Dying Wheel
Written: August 27, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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They showed without trumpets,
but with teeth—
Four shadows galloping through
the marrow of time.
One wore famine such as a crown,
another cloaked in fire’s deceit.
The third preached war
in the brother’s tongue,
and the fourth laughed
as the stars forgot their names.
The wheel spun—
not to teach,
but to tremble,
Dharma cracked beneath the weight
of poisoned promises
We raised shrines from
the threads of logic,
We offered them our views
and named it veridically raw.
Yet in some distant spot,
A silver surfer glides through
the endless expanse
carrying no blade,
Just a memory— a soft whisper
of who we once were,
Here the shadows fell
laid claim to our light.
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