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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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Wasted Days

A farmer toils from dawn's first light,
With calloused hands, from day to night.
Each seed he plants with care and grace,
Becomes a feast time can’t erase.

But those who idle, dreams confined,
Let fleeting hours slip through their mind.
Their fields lie bare, their barns stay cold,
No harvest comes from stories told.

The earth rewards the sweat and strain,
Through sun and storm, through loss and gain.
Yet wasted days breed empty lands,
No fruit is borne from idle hands.

So rise and labor, strong and true,
For life gives back what you pursue.
The farmer’s feast, the squandered plea—
Both mirror choices, yours and me.

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