Where Wisdom Waits
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We deprive ourselves of what sustains us, leaving only the scraps of time for our own growth,
We deprive ourselves of what sustains us, letting schedules outrank the needs of our soul,
We deprive ourselves of what sustains us, treating learning like a luxury instead of our responsibility,
We deprive ourselves of what sustains us, then wonder why success still feels hollow…
Merchants of illusion, they sell us urgency until we lose track of what we truly value,
Merchants of illusion, counting coins, not calm, as their measure of gain,
Merchants of illusion, and I’ve spent too much trying to buy approval,
Merchants of illusion, though the only real wealth is inner quiet and peace…
The lamp stands faithfully each night, its flame quietly asking if I’ve lived—or only performed,
The lamp stands faithfully each night, casting light on unread pages and unanswered questions,
The lamp stands faithfully each night, forgiving my neglect, though time still takes its toll,
The lamp stands faithfully each night, waiting for me to choose learning over comfort…
The mind is a fertile field, and chasing everything but truth leaves it empty,
The mind is a fertile field, craving stillness, not noise—deliberate thought, not distraction,
The mind is a fertile field, where even five honest minutes can grow something lasting,
The mind is a fertile field, needing care every day—not only when the world goes quiet…
Time reveals who we’ve really chosen to be, by the space between what we know and what we do,
Time reveals who we truly serve, showing that devotion is measured in hours, not in words…
Time reveals who we truly serve, and the sacred begins when we step outside the usual,
Time unveils who we truly serve, because purpose isn’t something found—it’s something we create with our choices…
We deprive what sustains us
The hours are merchants of illusion
The lamp faithfully each night
The mind is a fertile field
Time unveils reveals allegiance
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