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Heart of Stone

He built his dreams with fire and steel,   Through sweat and pain, through grit and will.   His path was carved with silent nights,   A war he waged beyond the sights.   But love, so sweet, so soft, so near,   Whispered dreams into his ear.   A choice was placed upon his chest—   His passion’s flame, or love’s request.   He turned away from burning light,   Held her close, embraced the night.   Yet soon he found, to his dismay,   Both love and purpose slipped away.   For goals demand a heart of stone,   And love still longs to call its own.   To chase one means to lose the fight,   To hold both tight is rarest might.   So walk the road with eyes aware,   Choose with wisdom, choose with care.   For once you drop what makes you whole,   You lose the fire—and lose your soul.
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Mutevu

Mutevu, weathered hands upon his staff,  
Surveys the land, where crops are scant and tough.  
The sun beats down, a relentless tyrant's stare,  
Parched earth reflects the heat, a burden hard to bear.  

He wipes his brow, a sigh escapes his lips,  
"What use is toil," he ponders, with a grip  
Tightened around the wood, a silent, stoic man,  
"If all we gain is barely what we can  

Sustain ourselves?" A flicker in his eye,  
A wisdom born of hardship, reaching high.  
He murmurs then, a truth that sets him free,  
"Nothing of worth is built without a plea  

To sweat and bleed, to plant where hope is thin,  
For roots to reach, for life to rise within."  
The sun's harsh gaze, a challenge Mutevu meets,  
With sacrifice he sows, for future, bountiful sweets. 

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