Where thought becomes visible.
M. Joseph Boehler
These pages have been waiting, collecting reflections, and drawn fragments from this existence.
—
Rust
by M. Joseph Boehler
no wisdom, no solace—only the vibrations of hatred.
the world trembles beneath a race that has lost its truth.
humanity spills its own blood; madness hangs in hearts like phantom mist,
and arrogance lifts a rusted blade, its edge sighs ruin.
greed drives that blade through wars that etch jagged scars across the ages.
each command, each conquest, lingers like a ghost in hollow throats.
the innocent tumble like wilted leaves, and truth is the first to fade.
—
To leave traces that might meet another's path.