In the dim glow of the city’s heart,
He wandered streets with a pen, not a map,
Each alleyway a canvas, each bar a start,
To capture life in a poetic trap.

With whiskey whispers and cigarette dreams,
He scribbled verses on napkins and scars,
Finding beauty in the mundane streams,
Of lives entwined beneath neon stars.

Through the clamor of typewriters’ song,
He carved tales of love, loss, and fire,
A rebel’s voice where misfits belong,
In lines that dared to never tire.

From shadows of solitude, he rose,
A bard of raw truths, unrefined,
In every word, his spirit flows,
A testament to the unconfined.