do not let labor swallow light,
or polish days till they feel tight,
your soul is not a box to tick,
nor praise that fades, nor numbers quick.
you are the hush before the dawn,
the breath that knows when rush is wrong,
the warmth that lingers on your skin,
the quiet joy you hold within.
step out of clocks and measured days,
let sunlight loosen rigid ways,
rest is not loss, nor time misspent
itβs where the self is gently bent.
for hours unlived, though neatly filled,
leave deeper hungers unfulfilled,
and charts may rise, and crowds may cheer,
yet life asks only: were you here?
remember wonder, slow and true,
the pulse that once ran wild in you,
let living be the truest art
not what you do, but how you are.
I walk where silence learns my name,
where maps run out and paths turn flame.
My dreams are sworn to no oneβs creed,
my fears lie buried with the seed.
The fall is mine, the blood, the bruise,
the nights that teach me how to choose.
From soil cracked by doubt and ache,
I grow the roots I dare to make.
Alone I rise, alone I bend,
with shadows only I befriend.
Each sleepless hour, each salted tear
tempers the spine that holds me here.
And when the summit meets my gaze,
no borrowed light, no borrowed praise
the sun stands still, my name aflame,
for all I own was earned through flame,
not handed luck nor hollow fame.
