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In the summer heat of ‘53,In Memphis town, where dreams run free,A man named Sam, with eyes so keen,Was cleaning up his music scene. His studio stood small, but proud,Amongst the city’s music crowd.He’d just wrapped up a church choir’s song,Resetting wires, he hummed along. You see, Sam’s place was quite unique—No need for fame […]
In Seoul one day in two-oh-nine,A man walked in with no spare dime.A manga café, warm and bright,Became his shelter from the fight. No snacks, no drink, he made no sound,Just grabbed his book and sat right down.The pages soaked with blood and fear,Yet in that world, he felt so near. The manga’s name? Battle
At five a.m. one summer day,In Auburn where the workmen stay,A man named Jeff, just twenty-five,Was up and ready, strong, alive. He grabbed a can from off the rack,Then strode the hall and didn’t look back.At Bastion Plating, parts were made,With chrome and tools, in heat they wade. His job was tough, the risk was
In Ontario’s woods, one peaceful day,Young Michael flipped through pics in May.Well, August, rather—summer’s gleam—Of diving deep and chasing dreams. Adrenaline ran in his blood,He scaled the peaks, he braved the floods.A knock then broke his quiet cheer,A frantic cop would soon appear. “A man is lost in yonder lake!We need your gear, for heaven’s
At ten-thirty sharp, on a Sunday so bright,In a church bathed in warmth, filled with soft morning light,Young Pastor Kyle, just thirty-three,Stood preaching his faith for all to see. Seven long years he had led this place,With wisdom, with laughter, and youthful grace.He joked, he played, yet taught with care,And brought in crowds from everywhere.
In Dartmouth one night, back in ’25,A dorm room with laughter was fully alive.Ted was the host, just twenty-one,With gin in hand, the mischief begun. Now booze was banned in all the states,But rules, to Ted, were tempting fates.He knew full well it was the law—Still drank with friends without a flaw. Why such risk?
One chilly night in London town,In two-thousand-nine as sun went down,A man named Chris, just twenty-three,Went out for food and company. He brought a date to end the night,McDonald’s glowed with yellow light.It wasn’t grand, nor fancy fare,But it was all that he could bear. He had no cash for things divine,But smiled and said,
In Utah’s cold on a January day,A man named Gary was led the way.To an old food plant, long left to rust,Where silence reigned, and hopes were dust. With guards around on every side,No place to run, nowhere to hide.But Gary didn’t want to flee,He walked with calm, acceptingly. Inside the plant—so vast, so bare,One
On an autumn morn in Wichita town,A Russian pilot came around.Sergey Galitzky, aged fifty-four,Walked through a flight simulator’s door. With translator close, he sought that day,To train on a Cessna and earn his pay.Inside the building, vast and wide,Where mock jets soared and screens collide. They met with Jay, aged seventy-eight,An instructor seasoned, calm and
At four o’clock on Saturday, the sky was calm and bright,The backyard buzzed with joy and love, hearts glowing with delight.In Knoxville, Iowa, a family stood with cheer,To celebrate a baby soon to grace their lives so near. Pamela, aged fifty-six, with laughter in her eyes,Stood filming in her son’s backyard beneath the autumn skies.She
