poem
Late Night Musings
(meaning, without the lecture)
What if it’s not about the answer, but instead about the question?
A world that skips the journey—eyes glued to the destination,
Lost in the weight of others’ perceptions, not reasons for celebration.
Perhaps we all just need to breathe, or find some form of meditation.
Alone, pondering: does the story truly end, or does meaning grow beyond the page?
Or do you find its wisdom only as you truly start to age?
Some arcs are fleeting—a glimpse of light that fades again,
Yet life’s most beautiful moments are often quiet, mundane.
Even the leaves know—the only certainty is change,
Life isn’t a series of chapters, carefully chosen and arranged.
Happiness and power aren’t bought; they’re earned with thoughtful intent,
And even in the darkest shadows, guard the spark of your own flame.
A world that skips the journey—eyes glued to the destination,
Lost in the weight of others’ perceptions, not reasons for celebration.
Perhaps we all just need to breathe, or find some form of meditation.
Alone, pondering: does the story truly end, or does meaning grow beyond the page?
Or do you find its wisdom only as you truly start to age?
Some arcs are fleeting—a glimpse of light that fades again,
Yet life’s most beautiful moments are often quiet, mundane.
Even the leaves know—the only certainty is change,
Life isn’t a series of chapters, carefully chosen and arranged.
Happiness and power aren’t bought; they’re earned with thoughtful intent,
And even in the darkest shadows, guard the spark of your own flame.