It walks not backward into dust,
Nor leans ahead in blind pursuit—
But stands where silence touches stone,
Where truth begins, and lies are mute.
It does not bow to memory's weight,
Nor flinch beneath tomorrow’s gold,
It does not chase, it does not flee,
But holds a flame the dark can’t fold.
No echo sways it from its step,
No future dream, no past regret.
It listens only to the now,
And answers with a calm "not yet."
While others twist for comfort’s sake,
Or yield to fear dressed up as fate,
This path moves forward, firm and still—
Not fast, but ever straight.
It bends to none—it breaks to none—
A line drawn quiet through the noise,
Not seeking praise, nor fearing scorn,
But faithful to its silent voice.
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