Jordan A. Leturgez

In the neon glow where fortunes dance,
Beneath the glitter of a reckless chance,
There roams a creature, sleek and sly,
With dreams as vast as the midnight sky.

He prowls the canyons of greed and gold,
Where whispers of wealth grow brazenly bold,
Each heartbeat echoes a siren's song,
In the jungle of numbers, where the bold belong.

A master of hustle, a king of the game,
He wears ambition like a cloak of flame,
With laughter that ripples through walls of glass,
In a world where dreams are bought in a flash.

But shadows lurk in the glint of the coin,
As innocence dulled and ethics are torn,
For beneath the howl of the wolf in delight,
Are shadows of lives lost to the night.

The high-flying parties, the glittered excess,
Mask whispers of sorrow, of dreams in distress,
As the dollar signs dance, hearts beat in haste,
Pushed by the rush of a reckless embrace.

Oh, beast of the markets, sharp-toothed, unbound,
What price do you pay for the throne you have found?
The laughter grows hollow, as echoes unwind,
In pursuit of the beast, what treasures we blind.

For wealth is but fleeting, a flicker, a flash,
Yet the scars of the chase? They linger and clash,
In the silence that follows the fervor of heat,
Lies a truth that the wolf will never defeat.

So howl if you must, let your spirit take flight,
But remember the cost of the revelry's night,
In the bright-shining world of ambition and might,
Not all that is golden can survive the light.

In shadows deep where shadows blend,
A whispered pact, a silent mend,
Where dreams take flight on tethered wings,
A commission to the heart that sings.

With ink like stardust, the quill takes flight,
Tracing paths through the long, dark night.
Words, like fireflies, dance and dart,
Each flicker igniting a yearning heart.

Oh, noble task, to carve out meaning,
From chaos stirred, to find the gleaning.
In the echo of silence, we seek the song,
As whispered hopes, both fragile and strong.

Gather the fragments, the world's sweet pain,
In verses woven, like drops of rain.
Each line a fulcrum, a bridge to cross,
Turning despair into joyous gloss.

Speak for the voiceless, the lost and the shamed,
For in every soul, deserving, unnamed,
A story is waiting, a cavern of light,
To break through the darkness, to ignite the night.

The commission, dear poet, is more than a role,
It's the art of connecting, the stitching of soul.
So pen down your truths, let the ink spill wide,
For in every heart's tale, the universe hides.

Let every stanza be a lighthouse flame,
A guiding light through the shadows of shame.
For when the world whispers, "You cannot, you shan't,"
In the flicker of verses, we dream and we chant.

So gather your courage, let your heart take flight,
In the service of beauty, let us unite.
For the commission of poetry is never in vain--
It's a spark of the cosmos, a balm for the pain.

In shadows deep where whispers dwell,
A figure stands, a tale to tell,
With every clash and cry that swells,
A heart of iron, cast in hell.

Unyielding spirit, fierce and bold,
A rebel's fire, refusing to fold,
Injustice drips like rain, uncontrolled,
Each action a story, defiant and told.

A mirror held to society's face,
Unveiling truths in a heated embrace,
They shout of change, of a better place,
Yet, scorned by many, met with disgrace.

They walk the line 'tween right and wrong,
A gang of poets, a chorus of song,
With ink for blood and resolve so strong,
They'll fight the silence, where darks belong.

To stir the souls, to awaken the blind,
With words as weapons, fiercely aligned,
For every enemy, a truth to find,
In their rhythm, the pulse of the resigned.

So watch them rise, these public foes,
From ashes of silence, their legacy grows,
In every heartbeat, their passion flows,
The charm of their chaos, where revolution glows.

In a world so loud, where comfort conforms,
They dance with danger, they weather the storms,
For through the struggle, a new norm transforms,
In the heart of the outcast, true hope reforms.

So stand beside them, or stand aside,
Feel the tremor of truth as they bide,
A poetry fierce, with nowhere to hide,
For the public enemy is the voice of our pride.

In the hush of twilight's gentle sigh,

Where shadows linger, and dreams dare to fly,

Whispers of valor weave through the air,

Tales of the unyielding, cloaked in despair.

Beneath the stars, in the depths of night,

Heroes awaken, igniting the fight.

With every heartbeat etched bold on the skin,

They carry the burdens where hope has been thin.

Through valleys of sorrow, where anguish has roamed,

In the face of the tempest, their spirits have combed,

They rise like the dawn, fierce and unbroken,

Voices that tremble with words left unspoken.

From rocky encampments where spirits may stray,

To cities adorned with memories frayed,

Each echo tells stories of courage and grace,

Of hands that have lifted the fallen from grace.

In the flicker of flame, their shadows appear,

Guardians of spirit, the brave and the dear.

Every struggle a testament carved into time,

Their legacy hums, a resounding rhyme.

For in the heart of the storm, when the world seems to fade,

The unyielding stand firm, unbowed and displayed.

They write with their actions, in blood, sweat, and tears,

Crafting a saga that conquers our fears.

So listen, dear soul, to the echoes that call,

In unity's strength, let us rise and not fall.

For the tales of the steadfast, in whispers or shouts,

Remind us of courage, of what life's about.

Let valor's embrace be our guiding light,

As we march through the shadows, unyielding, in sight.

For the echoes of valor, forever will soar,

A tapestry woven where spirits restore.

In the quiet corners of a fleeting day,

Where shadows whisper secrets, and light turns gray,

There lies a heart, stitched with threads of dreams,

Yet tangled in silence, unraveling seams.

I wander through moments, where echoes swell,

In the bright bustling world, I feel like a shell--

A vessel of longing, adrift on the tide,

Yet beneath the still waters, fierce currents abide.

Oh, loneliness wraps like a shroud in the night,

Yet carries a spark of resilience, a light;

For I sit with my thoughts like old friends in a room,

And craft them to words that defy the gloom.

With ink in my veins, I bleed truths undone,

Each line a companion, my battles begun;

Though solitude hovers like mist in the air,

I etch out my journey, my dreams laid bare.

In the garden of struggle, I nurture the flame,

For loneliness whispers, but I won't feel shame;

I'll rise with a purpose, through doubt and disdain,

Each heartbeat a promise--I'll dance through the pain.

So I gather the pieces, both broken and whole,

And whisper to the dark, "You won't steal my soul."

For I get lonely too, yes, I wear that badge tight,

But I still put in work, carving pathways of light.

With every new stanza, I build and I break,

For the gift of creation, it's mine to awake;

In the symphony of silence, my heart finds its song,

I embrace all its shadows, and know I belong.

So here's to the lonely, the weary, the bold,

Who weave their own stories, each thread turned to gold;

We rise through the solitude, crafting our worth,

For though I get lonely, I'll still put in work.