Awake and stand with attention,
For the words that leap through me now,
Leap only once in a world’s lifetime.

“It is enough.”
This is the secret chalice,
Hidden in the snow-wrapped stalagmites of sky,
Tucked away from the prying eyes,
Of unfiltered souls.
This is our Promethean fire,
The light to guide the hand of our children’s grasp,
And to burn away their impurities,
So that Hephaestus himself could not craft a finer steel.
“It is enough.”
No forward movement or backwards reaction,
Could increase or belittle:
This is the arena which encompasses the origin of paths:
Even if the dirt road , washed away by chance,
Disappeared as our feet rose away,
Leaving no lingering hope,
Still, we would keep close the furtive thought:
“It is enough.”

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