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Say It Again

They say every truth has had its day, Every word worn down by time’s decay. But still I speak, though echoes ring— Not for the crown, but for the king. Perhaps it’s carved in ancient stone, Or whispered when we’re most alone. Yet silence grew where sound had been, So if no one heard—say it again. The poet wept it in a rhyme, The prophet screamed it through the grime. The child drew it in the sand, The elder reached with trembling hand. But ears were deaf, or minds were closed, And hearts in fear became enclosed. So though it feels like worn refrain, For love and loss—say it again. Say it with fire, or soft like prayer, Say it in rooms where no one dares. If truth once knocked and no one came, Then knock once more, and speak the same. For words don’t die just 'cause they’re old, They rise again, bold yet untold. And if it’s real, and cuts like pain, It must be said—again, again.
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Naibei



Naibei, with fire in her eyes, a victor's endless chase,
Each triumph built a hollow throne, a loveless, empty space.
The trophies lined the lonely hall, a testament to strife,
A Pyrrhic victory, a soul's true cost, a life bereft of life.

One day, beneath a palm tree's sway, a whisper on the breeze,
"True winners rest, from battles won, find solace 'neath the leaves."
She scoffed, "Why rest when there's so much to gain?" the world her battlefield,
But wisdom's voice, it wouldn't wane, a story gently peeled.

An elder sat, with eyes that held the wisdom of the dunes,
And offered dates, their sweetness rich, beneath the afternoon moons.
"These victories," she sagely spoke, "they leave your spirit frail,
You cannot win them all, my dear, true strength from rest is hailed."

Naibei tasted, soft and yielding, a sweetness that did bloom,
A counterpoint to all the striving, a respite from the gloom.
She saw the palms, how tall they stood, yet swayed in gentle ease,
And felt a truth, a calming flood, a wellspring meant to appease.

The dates, a symbol, pure and bright, of building from within,
No victories in endless fight, but peace where she could win.
The fire dimmed, replaced by grace, a strength that softly gleamed,
Naibei, with wisdom in her face, no longer solely schemed.

For winning, when it's all you crave, can leave your spirit sore,
But dates and rest, a lesson grave, can build forevermore. 

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