I do not bend to shifting sand,
nor trade truth for comfort’s fleeting warmth.
I will not mask conviction
in the garments of approval.
Truth is not a thing we build,
it is uncovered,
etched deep into the bones of being,
enduring like stone shaped by endless wind.
Love is not pride disguised as kindness,
but its undoing,
a fire that consumes the self
to reveal what is pure.
And God,
not a thought to entertain,
but the still center of all things,
the pulse beneath creation,
the breath that gives weight to right and wrong.
I have watched minds build worlds without Him
clever, shining, intricate worlds,
but hollow, like glass towers
rooted in mist.
They speak of justice yet cannot define it,
denounce evil yet shrink from naming good.
So I choose what endures.
I plant my feet where the storms break
and find peace in the wind’s rebuke.
For comfort fades.
Applause dies.
But truth stands eternal.
Love above pride.
God above all.
And the soul,
when it remembers this,
finds its way home.