Travesty and Tragedy

Tragedy is a heart that breaks,
A soul enduring darkened days,
A loss so deep, it shakes the ground—
Real pain where grief is found.

Travesty is a mockery played,
A farce in the name of charade,
Not pain, but insult—shallow, loud—
A crown placed on a fraud.

One weeps from truth too hard to bear,
The other? Laughter laced with glare.
Tragedy mourns. Travesty jeers.
One drowns in tears. One fuels our sneers.

A Steady Wont

Each dawn she walks the garden path,
A silent, slow, and steady wont.
Not forced, not bound by any math,
But deep in rhythm, soul and thought.

She wants the blooms, the dew, the light,
And won’t be rushed by modern haste.
Yet still she comes, each morning right—
This quiet ritual, long embraced.

Her wont is peace, her heart’s true song,
A gentle pull, where she belongs. 🌿