Tor Magnor Solvang

The stars are scattered, dust of light,
Across a velvet, endless night.
A universe so vast and deep,
Where secrets sleep, and planets keep
...

A whispered word, on Patmos' shore,
John saw a King, forevermore.

Not just a past, a story told,
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Sixty-six stories, a river so wide,
One message whispers, deep inside.

From Eden's dawn to Heaven's bright door,
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Alone in the wild, forty days long,
No friendly face, no comforting song.
Just sand and sky, and whispers within,
A battle fought, where shadows begin.
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Love's true garden, cannot bloom,
While shadows linger in the room.
Darkness hides where trust once lay,
Chasing sunlight far away.
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Life, a winding, wondrous road,
Where sunshine dances, shadows load.
A mystery woven, thread by thread,
With joy and sorrow gently bled.
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A tweet from the past, brought back to light,
Charlie Kirk's words, in black and white.
Not for deer in woods, nor fear at night,
The Second Amendment, in his own sight.
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Unity and Respect.

A home with shouts, no listening ears,
No rules for kids, just angry tears.
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A star's soft gleam, a world anew,
Where skies are strange, and dreams come true.

Not dust and rock, but signs so clear,
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Soft steps are good, when shadows creep,
When danger hides, in slumber deep.
Walk softly then, and hold your breath,
Avoid the clash, and dance with death.
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The bull's head lowers, strong and fast,
Don't walk in front, your chance is past.

The horse's heels, a sudden kick,
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The highest seat, a heavy crown,
Can fall, if trust is broken down.
Article Two, Section Four, it says,
For the President, in measured ways.
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The talk of years, a silver rain,
To work until our backs all pain.
They speak it soft, with faces bright,
Of seventy years, and fading light.
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When we die, they say, we'll rest,
Peace and quiet, put to the test.
But why, oh why, must we wait,
For freedom's gate, sealed by fate?
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A glass so bright, a tempting gleam,
A whisper of a joyful dream.
But shadows hide behind the light,
And morning follows a restless night.
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The cold bites hard, a chilling sting,
Minus twenty, winter's thing.
The car sits still, a frozen lump,
No engine cough, no hopeful jump.
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A little voice inside our head,
Says, 'Cookies now or go to bed! '
But bigger plans, a brighter aim,
Whisper back, a different game.
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The air hung thick, a quiet dread,
A prince's words, softly said.
No anger flared, no fists were clenched,
Just truth's cold weight, carefully trenched.
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A chill wind blows in Minneapolis town,
A shadow falls, where sunlight danced down.
Chicago's name, once whispered with dread,
Now fades away, as fear spreads instead.
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A shadow follows, dark and deep,
Wherever I may softly creep.
Eyes watch close, a silent plea,
Is something hidden here, in me?
...