Life today is akin to navigating a vast, sunless forest where the foliage breathes and the path beneath your feet is composed of shifting sands. We no longer walk on solid ground; we tread upon a high wire stretched across a canyon of constant change, where every gust of wind is a new demand and every rustle in the undergrowth a potential disruption. In this intricate dance of survival, the luxury of a closed eye has vanished, replaced by the necessity of a hunter’s instinct. To exist in such a landscape is to be a perpetual sentry at the gates of one's own peace, understanding that the price of safety is a mind that never truly rests, forever scanning the horizon for the next storm.
In a landscape forged of sharp-edged glass,
Where silent, shifting shadows pass,
The ground beneath is never still,
Testing the pulse, the heart, the will.
To walk this path is to know the weight
Of eyes that watch and winds that wait.
There is no grace for the heavy sleep,
No safety in the vows we keep.
So tighten the coil, sharpen the mind,
Leave the softness of rest behind.
For in a world of constant storm,
Only the watchful keep their form.
