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Perspective

The poor man walks with weary feet, Counting coins for bread to eat. He knows the price of rice and grain, The rising cost, the daily strain. The rich man sits in halls of gold, Speaking not of prices told. He sees beyond the numbered scale, The worth of time, the weight of tale. A poor man sees a wooden chair, A price tag placed, a cost laid bare. The rich man sees the hands that built, The years of skill, the crafted tilt. A poor man sees a diamond bright, A thing of wealth, a sign of might. The rich man knows its deeper tale, The hands that mined, the sweat so pale. For price is set, but worth is felt, A truth that time has always dealt. The poor man counts, the rich man sees— The gap between is more than fees.
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A Patient Friend

I walk the path where doors stay closed,  
where whispers say, "You are not the one."  
Yet every "No" the world has posed  
is just a step—I'm not undone.  

At first, it burned, a bitter taste,  
a weight that made my spirit bend.  
But now I see, it's not a waste—  
Rejection is a patient friend.  

It sharpens will, it tests the mind,  
it humbles pride, it builds the skin.  
To love the "No" is to unwind  
the fear that keeps the dream within.  

So let me laugh when I am turned,  
let me embrace the doors that close.  
For every scar is something earned,  
and every fall, a seed that grows.

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