In the grand book of time, we all have a page,
Written in ink, yet bound by a cage.
A single page, so fleeting, so small,
But we seek to turn it, to conquer it all.
The line we cross, the test we take,
The thirst for power that we mistake—
For we think we’re the authors, the ones who decide,
But in the end, we can’t run from the tide.
The pages are many, yet ours is just one,
A moment in time, a thread in the sun.
To seek more is tempting, to push past the wall,
But we lose ourselves when we forget the call.
For in trying to play the Creator's part,
We lose the wisdom of a humble heart.
The test is simple, yet it's a heavy cost:
To accept our place, and not be lost.
The bad will wander, lost in their fire,
While the good will stand, to never tire.
And when the test is done, with no more to seek,
We’ll find peace in the truth, in the simple and meek.
So let them be bad, and let us be good,
Not for glory, but because we should.
To simply be—to live, to feel,
Is the wisdom that turns the wheel.
The end will come, as all things do,
And we’ll rest in knowing, the answer is true:
The power we seek is not ours to claim,
It’s simply to be, and to honor the name.
