The Flame Within
The greatest theft is not of things,
but of the fire that fuels our wings.
To tell a mind it’s bound, restrained,
is to bleed its courage, leave it chained.
They swaddle them in cotton wool and lies,
a shroud of care where greatness dies.
"You're trapped," they say, "the world’s too vast,
a force too cruel, your dreams outcast."
But under all their soft concern,
they quench the spark before it burns.
What harm they do, these voices meek,
who whisper comfort, render weak.
They steal the power to believe,
to shape the world, to dare, to leave.
A mind set free needs no disguise,
no tales of doom, no safety lies.
No weight of "system" can suppress
a soul that sees its own success.
Greatness is not a gift or prize—
it burns strong, in truth and pain,
in work and will, like tempered flame.
Tell them they are not cogs, but kings,
not bound by chains, but by their wings,
the architects of their own fate.
No trophies given for ease or grace,
no comfort here in second place.
But glory waits for those who strive,
who push through dark to come alive.
They are the storm, the rising tide,
the flame that no false care can hide.
Teach them that they are free, unbound,
that strength is in the fight they’ve found.
For victory is a choice, as is defeat,
and futures wait at striving’s feet.
No system vast, no shadowed hand,
can stand before a will that stands.
So tell them true, the path is clear,
the world is theirs, no force to fear.
A generation, fierce, untamed,
the fire of greatness yet unnamed.
Beyond the Veil
If we are spirits, not just flesh and bone,
then this world is but the shadow cast
by something greater, vaster, unknown—
a slant of light, a glimpse of past.
Our lives are threads in a hidden weave,
woven tight in a tapestry unseen.
We drift through dreams, what we believe,
guided by realms behind the screen.
We’re drawn like tides to an ancient place,
a world that hums in quiet song—
not bound by time, nor bound by space,
but vast and near, where we belong.
We grasp at whispers, at voices low,
echoes of something whole and clear.
Beyond this life, beyond our woe,
we sense the pulse, the truth we hear.
A language felt, yet deeply known—
a truth that speaks in dreams, in signs.
If we are spirits, we’re not alone,
we touch the Beyond through secret lines.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Oct 26, 2024
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1850008287057699114?t=0Go_GcVdAH_NTt9N3beJ3A&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/1697
The greatest theft is not of things,
but of the fire that fuels our wings.
To tell a mind it’s bound, restrained,
is to bleed its courage, leave it chained.
They swaddle them in cotton wool and lies,
a shroud of care where greatness dies.
"You're trapped," they say, "the world’s too vast,
a force too cruel, your dreams outcast."
But under all their soft concern,
they quench the spark before it burns.
What harm they do, these voices meek,
who whisper comfort, render weak.
They steal the power to believe,
to shape the world, to dare, to leave.
A mind set free needs no disguise,
no tales of doom, no safety lies.
No weight of "system" can suppress
a soul that sees its own success.
Greatness is not a gift or prize—
it burns strong, in truth and pain,
in work and will, like tempered flame.
Tell them they are not cogs, but kings,
not bound by chains, but by their wings,
the architects of their own fate.
No trophies given for ease or grace,
no comfort here in second place.
But glory waits for those who strive,
who push through dark to come alive.
They are the storm, the rising tide,
the flame that no false care can hide.
Teach them that they are free, unbound,
that strength is in the fight they’ve found.
For victory is a choice, as is defeat,
and futures wait at striving’s feet.
No system vast, no shadowed hand,
can stand before a will that stands.
So tell them true, the path is clear,
the world is theirs, no force to fear.
A generation, fierce, untamed,
the fire of greatness yet unnamed.
Beyond the Veil
If we are spirits, not just flesh and bone,
then this world is but the shadow cast
by something greater, vaster, unknown—
a slant of light, a glimpse of past.
Our lives are threads in a hidden weave,
woven tight in a tapestry unseen.
We drift through dreams, what we believe,
guided by realms behind the screen.
We’re drawn like tides to an ancient place,
a world that hums in quiet song—
not bound by time, nor bound by space,
but vast and near, where we belong.
We grasp at whispers, at voices low,
echoes of something whole and clear.
Beyond this life, beyond our woe,
we sense the pulse, the truth we hear.
A language felt, yet deeply known—
a truth that speaks in dreams, in signs.
If we are spirits, we’re not alone,
we touch the Beyond through secret lines.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Oct 26, 2024
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1850008287057699114?t=0Go_GcVdAH_NTt9N3beJ3A&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/1697
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