SUN PROX

07/01/2026

The land remembers

The riders endure

Honor outlives division.

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07/01/2026

Built like a bison

Unbothered by noise.

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06/01/2026

I'M SO OLD THAT I HAVE ACTUALLY DIALED A ROTARY PHONE BEFORE
WHILE LISTENING AN 8 TRACK NEXT TO A BLACK AND WHITE TV WITH ALUMINUM FOIE
ON ITS WOLF EARS

06/01/2026

“DAMN I’M GOOD IN BED”
I can sleep for day

05/01/2026

Spirit of the Long Watch

Stand where the wind
can reach you.
The elders say
strength is not taken—
it is carried
with humility.

Let your gaze
be steady,
your heart
unhurried.

Protection begins
in quiet attention;
compassion grows
in patient breath.

Remember those
who kept vigil
before you—
their endurance
is the ground
beneath your feet.

Beside you,
the eagle waits,
teaching clarity,
teaching calm.

Walk forward
with measured steps,
so the generations
who follow
will know
you listened
to the old truths
and walked
as they taught.

04/01/2026

Red Blanket of the Remembering Forest

Wrapped in crimson warmth,
she stands where
the evergreen breath
meets winter’s hush.

Her face bears the marks
of stories whispered
long before her birth,
painted in white
like snowflakes shaped by ancestors.

The forest bows,
recognizing a daughter
who has learned
how to carry sorrow
without letting it crush her fire.

Her gaze holds distance—
hills, years, spirits—
yet her stance remains unbroken.

She is the quiet strength
of a people who endure,
the flame that refuses
to dim in the wind.

03/01/2026

03/01/2026

Where the Water Remembers Us

He sits at the edge of evening,
Horse beside him,
Both painted in the quiet colors of the fading sun.
No reins, no command—
Only trust,
Old as the first hoofprint on soft earth.

The sky opens like a wound of light,
Bleeding orange into blue,
And the still pond below
Holds their reflection
As if time itself were listening.

He carries a spear,
But tonight it is not for battle—
It is a staff of remembering,
Pointed toward the stories
That rise with the smoke of distant fires.

Nothing moves.
Yet everything speaks:
The horse breathing slow,
The earth cooling beneath him,
The sky promising another day.

He does not pray with words—
He prays by being here,
Present with the land,
Rooted in silence,
Knowing the water keeps the truth
Long after the voices are gone.

For warrior and horse,
Sky and reflection,
Are all part of one story—
A story the earth never stops telling,
As long as someone sits still enough to hear it.

03/01/2026

At the Meeting of Foreheads

Here,
no words—
only the warm press
of elder and bear
sharing one breath.

His years,
the bear’s knowing,
settle into the same silence.
In this place,
strength is gentle,
and gentleness
is strong.

They lean closer,
not to ask,
but to remember:
the old bond
still holds.

What stands with you
is never separate
from what lives
within you.

31/12/2025

the root of my people run deep