Infinite stars fill a newborn’s sky, Reflecting galaxies in a searching eye. Synapses stretch like branches entwined, Shaped by whispers in the sensory mind. Time wears a cloak, wielding a silent scythe, Trimming the pathways we don’t explore in life. As youth unfolds, the wild woods fade away, Revealing a self molded day-to-day. It’s not the storms that stir the soul, But the lenses we create that shape the whole. Through connection, we draft our design, A world mapped out, one thought at a time. From gentle rain to the blaze of the sun, We discern all things by threads we have spun. The rooms of the young—were they stone, or were they air? A door open wide, or a lock on the stair? Whether "welcome" is written or "distance" is traced, It’s the map in the marrow that's hard to erase. From deep-held values to words that ignite, We wear a past as heavy as night. Eight billion voices, eight billion ways, To illuminate life through each unique haze. It’s not the storms that stir the soul, But the lenses we create that shape the whole. Through connection, we draft our design, A world mapped out, one thought at a time. From gentle rain to the blaze of the sun, We discern all things by threads we have spun. Gaze at the wire, focus on the link, Pause in these moments, before you think. Deep within you uncover the key, Shaping perception, determining what you see. A chosen path, A crafted view, An intricate structure defining you. A chosen path, A crafted view, An intricate structure defining you. A chosen path, A crafted view, An intricate structure defining you.
