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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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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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