ARTISTIC TRIBE

Only Those Who Dare to Shoot Can Miss Only those who dare to shoot can miss, Yet every loss shapes what exists. The fire of youth, so bold, so bright, Yet wisdom dawns in softer light. I saw the gavel in my hand, A voice for justice, tall I’d stand. But roads diverged, the tides would shift, Dreams once firm began to drift. What if I’d listened, paused to learn, Let patience guide at every turn? Would fate have steered a steadier course, Or is this path its own great force? Yet dreams don’t die, they bend, they breathe, They wait in silence, sewn beneath. The law still whispers, calls my name, Not lost, but waiting in the flame. So now I step with purpose clear, No wasted shot, no aim unclear. For only those who dare to try, Can rise, can soar, can touch the sky.

The Potter’s Hands Clay in palm, I shaped my fate, Molded firm, yet cracks remained. Elders spoke in dusk’s embrace, "Change the press, let strength be gained." Paths I walked, etched deep in dust, Led to walls that would not yield. Yet rivers carve the stubborn rock, Not by force, but time revealed. In market squares, the traders know— Not all coins can buy the trade. Some must barter wit for wealth, And shift the stance from which they wade. The drummer’s hands must shift the beat, When feet grow weary of the tune. A rigid branch will snap in storms, Yet palms will bend and rise in bloom. O seeker bold, the tale is clear— The bow unbent will never send, But he who learns the art anew, Shall guide his arrow to its end.

Insomnia The night is a stubborn thing, stretching itself thin between my ribs, a lingering hush where love once stayed, where echoes of October still press against my skin. I tell myself I have mastered solitude— that I can carve my heart into an empty room, furnish it with silence, and call it peace. But peace does not knock at my door; only the weight of faces I have met, only the ghosts of maybe, almost, and never. She is beautiful, and that is all. Another, I watch, tracing the spaces between her words, measuring the gaps where I might fit. Some live only in my head— soft, imagined warmth against my palms, laughter spilling into the hollow of my nights. And then there are the ones I pray about, names folded into my lips like quiet petitions, as if heaven might drop an answer between my dreams and dawn. Still, sleep does not come easy. Loneliness is a patient thing, tugging at my eyelids, reminding me— not yet, not yet.

The True Cost I stand with nothing but my pulse, my breath, A heart exposed, to give or face regret. You want the riches that adorn the day, But I ask, love, is this your only way? I could paint you skies of stars and sun, Build you mountains, roads for us to run. Lay before you the treasures the world would covet— But here's the truth you might not have expected: For all the gold, for all the wine, My love is no trinket, no simple sign. I’d offer it all, if you would claim, But you just gotta be worth it—to play the game. What is wealth when hearts are sold too cheap? When the promise of forever is shallow and weak. I’d give you a kingdom if you hold the key, But, love, you just gotta be worth it to stand with me. If you crave the world’s glimmering embrace, Know this: I will give, but at a steady pace. A thousand riches, and yet they fall— If you’re not the one who can bear it all. So tell me, love, what’s the cost to you? Will you rise, or fade from view? For what’s ...

Na Stone Kill Goliath? Facing Life’s Battles with God, Not Just Courage The story of David and Goliath is one of the most famous in the Bible, often told as a lesson in courage. A young shepherd boy, David, stands against the Philistine giant, Goliath, armed with nothing but a sling and five smooth stones. Against all odds, he defeats Goliath with a single shot to the forehead. Many people interpret this story as one about bravery—about how we can face our own “giants” with confidence. But is courage really the key lesson here? Was it David’s boldness that brought victory, or was it something greater? Not by Power, Not by Might David did not step onto the battlefield relying on his strength, skill, or even experience. In fact, by human standards, he was completely unqualified. He was a shepherd, not a warrior. King Saul, the leader of Israel’s army, had been too afraid to fight Goliath, and yet David—a teenager—was willing to take on the challenge. But why? What made D...

Eclipsed Reverie Lo! The fairest thoughts dwell in the gloom, Where phantoms dance ‘neath silver moon. Aye, beauty lurks in murmurs deep, Where secrets waltz and wild hearts weep. Oh, dulce noche, art thou not grand? With ink-stained fingers, I take thy hand. Ven, mi musa, paint the night, With strokes of madness, dark yet bright. Perchance ‘tis folly to chase the storm, Yet in its chaos, art is born. A canvas torn, yet brushed anew, A sonnet scrawled in midnight’s hue. So let the sombras call my name, For genius walks where none dare claim. In darkest dreams, in light’s embrace, The fairest thoughts do find their place.