Empty Soul

A hollow wind moves through my chest,
Where once a heart would beat and rest.
Now silence hums a ghostly tune,
Beneath a cold and distant moon.

No echo answers when I call,
Just shadows dancing on the wall.
My voice is lost, my name unknown—
An empty soul, a house of bone.

The world moves on, in brilliant hue,
While I walk blind, in shades of blue.
Their laughter floats like foreign songs,
Too far to reach, where I belong.

I press my hand to morning’s light,
But feel no warmth, no end to night.
A stranger in my own skin grown,
Loneliness my only home.

Yet still I breathe, and still I wait,
For chance, or change, or twist of fate—
That something kind might one day find
This vacant room inside my mind.

Empty Sould - Я-ĐÆỸ2119

KATS THE MOVIE- Я—Dæy2199

The Path of Arth

At first, the strokes are shy and small,
A trembling hand, unsure to call
The shapes, the shades, the dream in sight,
A whisper faint, not yet in flight.

With time, the lines learn where to bend,
Each curve a truth, each mark a friend.
Mistakes no longer feared or cursed,
They’re seeds from which the colors burst.

One day you see — the frame has grown,
A world within the canvas sown.
And though the journey still feels far,
You’ve found the heart inside the arth.

Arth Progression R-Ḏæy2199

Gravesong

Beneath the earth,
where roots gnarl like secrets,
I lie in the hush
of shadows too patient to fade.

The sky forgets me,
yet the soil remembers—
it drinks my silence,
it keeps my weight.

Stone presses bone,
time swallows breath,
but still a pulse—
slow as thunder in the deep—
refuses to die.

There, in the hollow,
where night is endless,
I rise as echo,
I fall as storm.

And all who hear
will tremble,
not for fear—
but because the earth itself
has a voice.

Deep low by R - Dæy2199

Vira y Cocha

Vira walks in lines of fire,
Sparks that flicker, climb, conspire nestles hands that never still,
a pulse that bends the world to will.

Cocha waits with patient breath, deep as night, serene as death.
Waves that fold and fall again,
a mirror soft yet vast, unchained.

When Vira leaps, the air turns thin,
Flames curl outwards, pulling in.
When Cocha stirs, the silence breaks,
and every echo shapes the wake

They are not storm, nor earth, nor sky,
but entities meeting, passing by.
Twi names, two threads, a woven chords
Vira and Cocha, never ignored

Vira y cocha by Я-ĐÆY͓̽2119

Brogen
I have revoke myself from the awoke In a cave torn by my own
Build by my Inuit
My own insult, didn't indulge their sweetness
Nothing else than real suffering through our thoughts.
As I separete my own. I see what it is owed As it was owed from my owned past.
Redeeming our broken spoken
Through god odd goodness.
As I approach to that state I said thank you for forgiveness
As I can't take their sorrows without taking their soul.
Therefore as before, lord will shape and snap their pain into beauty
As Allow them to cure, sure so did so to me too.

Brogen by 𝑹-Day₂199

Chaos Driver

He doesn’t flinch when the world begins to shake.
While others scatter from the storm,
he listens —
to the rhythm beneath the roar.

He’s learned that chaos is not the enemy,
but raw material —
a wild element that, when held just right,
turns to calm in his hands.

When walls close in,
he widens the room with breath.
When voices rise,
he lowers his tone until even fire remembers stillness.

He doesn’t fight the current —
he redirects it,
finding the hidden logic in disorder,
the silent pulse under panic.

He is both anchor and tide.
Stillness does not come to him —
he creates it,
out of sparks, out of noise,
out of the trembling edge where others lose their way.

Some call him lucky.
Some call him fearless.
But he knows —
it’s not control that guides him,
it’s understanding.
And that’s why chaos obeys.

Chaos Driver by R-Day2199

Don’t mind the price.
Every road demands a toll,
every wish hums a weight beneath it,
every dream asks for a piece of the dreamer
to prove it was truly wanted.

Take only what aligns with your hands,
ask only for what your spirit can hold—
for balance is not a scale of coins,
but a quiet contract between intention
and the echo it sends back.

What you give shapes what returns,
what you take carves what remains,
and what you reclaim is never lost—
only waiting in the space
between your courage
and your next step.

So don’t mind the price.
Value is not measured in cost,
but in the symmetry
between the offering
and the becoming.

Spend your fears,
collect your purpose,
and walk forward knowing this:
when you move with equity,
the world delivers your own thing
back to you—
refined,
mirrored,
and unmistakably yours.

Don’t mind the Price R-Dæy2199

R-Ḏæy:“Everything can be created on the Right Day; But it is up to the human to mantain it“

Don’t mind the Price R-Dæy2199

R Day2199

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