No storm will part for you.
No sky will split to lend its hand.
The world does not pause for prayers,
nor shift its weight to ease your burden.
You walk, or you don’t.
Power sits silent—
not in clouds or distant thrones,
but in the rhythm of your blood,
the grit of your teeth,
the steadiness of your tread.
The stars may hang as guides,
but they will not steer.
Their light is yours to chart,
their meaning yours to claim,
or ignore.
No force bends the wind to your need.
It moves as it always has,
carrying whispers, not answers,
and leaves the echo
for you to shape.
Your hands are the mapmakers.
Your feet know the ground.
The weight on your shoulders is yours
to shed or carry.
The climb begins and ends with you.
Do not wait for fire
to burn a path.
Do not ask the storm to clear.
The path is only yours
when you forge it.
Don't wait, do!