The-Creative-Artist

In the vast silence of the snow, a lone figure stands defiant, A monument of resilience, not easily vanquished. The winter's savage breath and frost, conspire in a whirlwind, menacing his existence, yet he stands tall, unswerving. The piercing cold, like uncertainties, that lurk and latch, The squalls, like destiny's cruel shifts, that thrust and challenge us. Yet amidst the tempest's ruthless bite, the soul battles to witness another day, For within this icy instant, grim and grave, the human essence blazes with yearning. To outlive the gale, to ascend and not falter, To brave the nature's wrath, to rise and not waver, In a duel with fate’s relentless mire Thus, the silhouette persists, steadfast and valiant, a signal of fortitude, existence's value to defend. Against all adversity, a trail they etch and shape, at the heart of the snowstorm, they stand unyielding, For existence is the squall, and we are the blaze, wavering, indeed, but persisting all the same. And akin to the

Within the boundless realm of existence, we stand as mere mortals, wrestling with a sense of entitlement, convinced that the world is indebted to us merely for our presence. But do we truly deserve praise and glory, for simply occupying space and breathing? Or is it a relentless pursuit, a race with no finish line in sight, a mirage we can never grasp? Our desires are insatiable, we crave more and more, Our yearnings, boundless as the starry night, In ceaseless pursuit of endless delight. Lands vast and treasures untold. We accumulate and accumulate, trying to make the emptiness whole. A comical display of our trivial vanities, and insatiable greed. What's the point of all this gettin'? To win some praise, some fleeting cheer, For all our shiny trinkets and treasures, Before we say goodbye and disappear? Beneath the soil, we shall return to dust, Our bodies, mere sustenance for the worms, As nature reclaims what was always hers. Shouldn’t we yearn for something else, a