I was a prisoner to a vision, bound by the weight of my own creation,
Clinging tight like frost to a morning pane, each choice a slow migration.
Through the hourglass of trials, the grains slipped, a steady cascade,
And now I see each moment’s chiseling, every scar a mark well made.
For what seemed aimless once, now gleams with clarity profound,
Every stumble, every lesson—a seed sown in fertile ground.
Our worlds revolve in orbit ‘round the thoughts we choose to keep,
But to step beyond the surface,...