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The stone declares, “Hold fast, control your fate,”
A chiseled law for those who shape the world.
The stream replies, “Let go, dissolve your weight,”
A whispered path for lives by tides unfurled.

Stoic halls where reason’s fire refines,
Echo virtue bound in marbled walls.
The mind commands; the passion intertwines,
Elites emboldened, rising as it calls.

They frame their fate, a measured, polished sphere,
Where wealth’s a tool, a blade to carve the will.
"Accept your lot," they chant, suppressing fear,
While thrones are kept, and empires gather still.

But far beyond the markets paved in stone,
A quiet voice dissolves the weight of kings.
The monk renounces all he might have known,
The sage dissolves ambition’s tethered strings.

Where fields are bare and hunger twists the night,
They find release in letting go of need.
For wealth becomes a root that binds too tight,
And freedom blooms in lives content, unfreed.

Taoists trace the river's winding course,
Through simple days, where power fades to mist.
While Stoics, gripping reason’s iron force,
Find virtue shaped in clenched and steady fists.

One path preserves the marble's ordered sheen,
The other flows where hierarchies decay.
Both seek the calm where thought and truth convene,
Yet split their means to master or obey.

The stone resists; the stream absorbs the fight,
Two faces turned to meet the world’s demands.
One carves a throne within the flood of might,
One lets the current slip between their hands.

In plenty, virtue girds the gilded gate,
In want, release unchains the spirit’s worth.
Two paths arise to reconcile with fate—
One bends the self, the other frees the earth.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4931782/stoic-virtue/

*'Stoic'* is a philosophical poem that contrasts two distinct approaches to navigating life’s challenges and societal systems. Drawing from Western Stoicism and Eastern thought (Buddhism and Taoism), the poem illustrates the tension between the disciplined, controlled mindset of Stoicism and the flowing, adaptive nature of Eastern philosophies.

Through imagery of stone (symbolizing rigidity, control, and virtue within hierarchy) and stream (symbolizing fluidity, surrender, and liberation from constraints), the poem explores how these worldviews respond to abundance and scarcity. Stoicism empowers the elite by advocating self-mastery and ethical responsibility within existing structures, while Eastern thought offers pathways for the disenfranchised to find peace through renunciation and simplicity.

The poem underscores how both philosophies seek inner peace but diverge in their methods: one reinforcing order and duty, the other embracing non-attachment and natural harmony.

Artist’s Intent
The intention behind *'Stoic'* is to examine how philosophical systems are influenced by the socio-economic conditions in which they arise. This piece aims to distill the core wisdom of Western Stoicism and Eastern philosophies while highlighting the implicit power dynamics each supports.

The stone represents the Stoic path, where individuals—often in positions of power—strive for virtue through rational control and acceptance of their societal role. The stream embodies the Eastern perspective, where liberation comes through relinquishing attachments and flowing with life’s natural rhythms, offering solace to those constrained by societal hierarchies.

By using tight pentameter and vivid contrasts, the poem seeks to balance the structural discipline of Stoicism with the fluidity of Taoism and Buddhism. The goal is not to judge one philosophy as superior but to reveal how each serves different needs based on context: one for managing power responsibly, the other for transcending systemic oppression.

Ultimately, *'Stoic'* invites readers to reflect on their own relationship with control, freedom, and the systems that shape their lives.
 Dec 7 Michael
Liana
Suns
 Dec 7 Michael
Liana
We are all suns
In our solar system

Some suns are arrogant
Only caring about themselves
They exclaim
"I'm the biggest one!"

And some suns are kind
Hating some
But loving most
They exclaim
"We are all stars
We should all be one"
(This note was written by a magic hat that you can spread out into a large mat"
Coffee
Never really helped me
Stay awake
Because I never really wanted to be
Concious
So coffee
Just makes it worse
Too tired for this ****
 Nov 8 Michael
N
Untitled
 Nov 8 Michael
N
Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me
I rewrote this poem because it felt unfinished.
Never impressed with the worst coming first
but this seems to be the new thing
and it's the same everywhere we go
even here,
you'd think that we would know
a shyster when we saw one.
 Nov 7 Michael
LLillis
The coldest night air
Seems no different than the
Space around the stars.
The mercury is dropping faster then we expected. It’s not quite polar vortex weather yet but the dry air and static warns of its approach.
 Nov 7 Michael
n
XI • VI • MMXXIV

︻デ┳═ー  

blood drips.
i can feel it on my fingertips,
i can taste it on your lips.

how did we get here?
i am drowning in fear.
there's no escape plan near.

they keep taking.
a nightmare waking.
we keep breaking.

the air is thickening,
gunshots quickening,
this is all so sickening.

blood pools.
genocide fuels.
american jewels.
* ♡ ⋆° ‘ * ✩⋆˚ ‘ *♡ ⋆° ‘ * ✩⋆
bad day to be a halfway decent person, huh?

i am so tired of screaming into silence. all we have is each other.

show up for people.
be kind, be good.
love hard.
always.
_
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

— The End —