Shane Rounce - Artist, Designer, Photographer & Developer, Midfield Road, Sheffield (2026)

Intelligent, beautiful and scalable web Design & Development.
- Get your business, product or service online, future-proofed and ready for all you can throw at it.
- Bespoke Designs to make sure you stand out from the crowd.
- Tutoring available to assure you get the most from your website.
- Mobile and touch screen compatible. Digital media, user-experience and social marketing Consultancy.

- Planning and guidelines to help you to target the right audience, in the most natural and unobtrusive manner, to gain organic traffic back to your website.
- Integrate better with Social Media.
- Gain insight into users' behaviors, attitudes, and emotions about using your business, product or service.
- Make sure you're using the right technologies for your needs. Commercial Photography.
- Event coverage and Documentary work.
- Fashion and Portraiture.
- Action and Sports.
- Product and Advertising. Graphic and Print Design.
- Mobile Apps.
- Digital Ads.
- Flyers, business cards and stationery.
- Magazines.
- Posters

Drop me an email to hire me: [email protected]

10/06/2026

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( 𝖆 𝖇 𝖘 𝖊 𝖓 𝖈 𝖊 𝖔 𝖋 𝖕 𝖊 𝖗 𝖒 𝖆 𝖓 𝖊 𝖓 𝖈 𝖊 )

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜?
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚛.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚏
𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍.
𝙸𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.
𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐.
𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢
𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛.
𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.
𝙰 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜.
𝙰 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜.
𝙰 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛
𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘:
𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢.
𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚘𝚖,
𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜,
𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎:
𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍,
𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜
𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.
𝙸𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗,
𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎,
𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝚂𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.
𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙.
𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.
𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝.
𝙱𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎.
𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜.
𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚜.
𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜.
𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍.
𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜:
𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕,
𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝,
𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕,
𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜
𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜.
𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜.
𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠.
𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.
𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐:
𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎.
𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍
𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜,
𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜, 𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜,
𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘
𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚔𝚢.
𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕,
𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗,
𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍,
𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎.

𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛,
𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎.
𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝,
𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗
𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝.
𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜:

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚜,
𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍,
𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Life will not stand still for us, no matter how much we wish it would. People change us. Love changes us. Loss changes us. Time moves on, even when part of us wants to stay exactly where we last felt whole. But moving on does not mean leaving love behind. It means carrying it differently.

It means learning that grief is not proof that life has ended, but proof that something mattered. It means understanding that memory should guide us, not hold us in place. It means seeing that the people we miss are still part of how we live, in the choices we make, the kindness we offer, the patience we learn, and the courage we find when life asks us to begin again.

So the work is not to beat change. It is to live well inside it.

To say what matters while there is still time.
To stop waiting for a perfect day before being honest.
To let joy be joy without fearing its ending.
To let pain be pain without believing it is forever.
To make peace with what cannot be fixed.
To hold love close, without trying to control what life must do.

Everything passes, but nothing real is wasted.
What we love becomes part of us.
What we lose teaches us how deeply we can care.
What breaks us can still open us, if we let it.

𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣, 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖.

07/06/2026

work in progress. eye scream 3.0

21/04/2026

// One Year On.

So many thoughts still crowd my head,
so many words left there instead,
half in silence, half in flame,
calling softly through your name.

Moments pass and nothing stays,
life burns bright, then shifts its ways,
and tomorrow is no promised thing,
no sealed reply, no certain ring.

We get this one life, brief and strange,
all heart and hope, all loss and change,
so hold it close while it is here,
speak the love, make it clear.

Because the ones we love do not just go,
not when they taught us how to grow,
not when their kindness still moves through
the things we say, the things we do.

They live in gestures, looks, and lines,
in stubborn strength, in warning signs,
in laughter rising unaware,
in all the ways they left us care.

And maybe grief is not just pain,
but love that has outlived the rain,
proof that something pure was there,
proof that someone mattered there.

It hurts like hell, and that is fine.
It means your soul still knows the tie.
That kind of bond does not undo.
It bends through time. It carries through.

The people we truly held so dear
would never ask us to stay here,
frozen in the moment loss came in,
circling the dark it settled in.

They’d want us living while we can,
to take this life with both our hands,
to go and see, to try, to be,
to do the things they could not reach.

And strange how after someone’s gone,
the hidden shapes keep carrying on,
the missing pieces, one by one,
catching light they never caught.

Stories surface. Truth appears.
Old wounds, old strength, old quiet fears.
The things they carried, held inside,
the storms they never named out loud.

And in those fragments, more is known,
not just the man, but how he’d grown,
how pain can shape a life in secret,
how love can still pour through the weakness.

So tell the stories. Say them plain.
Let memory walk through joy and pain.
What’s worth remembering should be shared.
What shaped a life should not be spared.

Loss is change, and change moves through
every feeling we thought we knew.
The motion under every scar,
the pull of who we really are.

And ice may thaw, and what remains
is not just water, not just pain,
but something left beneath the break,
a deeper truth the heart can take.

So if you love them, let them know.
Do not wait for some later road.
Do not trust time to always spare
the chance to say, I’m glad you’re there.

Because one day all that will remain
are names, and echoes, and the change,
and all the love we chose to give,
and all the ways we dared to live.

One year on, I still feel you.
In who I am. In what I do.
And though it breaks me, still I know
love does not end. It only grows.

---

My dad, John Andrew “Iceman” Rounce, passed away on 24 April last year. On that final day, we found ourselves talking about deep subjects, including mortality itself, before he went home and passed away. That last conversation has stayed with me in the year since, weighing on my mind in ways I am still learning to understand.

This poem is a gathering of those thoughts, written in the hope that they may speak to others who are facing grief, loss, and the painful but necessary act of moving forward. ♥️

Address

Midfield Road
Sheffield
S101SU

Website

https://shanerounce.com/

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