Who Are "We"?

Who  Are "We"? 

We the people a promise spoken,

Carved in ink that challenged time.

Yet every generation pauses to ask, 

If those words still truly shine. 

Who were the people first imagined? 

Whose voices echoed in that call? 

Did every heart stand in the circle, 

Or were some left beyond the wall?

How many years, how many footsteps?, 

How many tears were paid in full?, 

Before the dream of equal standing,

Began to outweigh ancient rule.

What was the struggle truly seeking?, 

A flag, a nation, liberty's flame? 

Or the right for every human soul, 

To live with dignity and name? 

Can freedom belong to only a few,

While others wait outside the gate? 

Can justice wear a single face, 

And still be worthy of its weight? 

They frights are gifts, then whose are they? 

Can truth be divided by blood or birth? 

Does the breath that fills one life, 

Not fill every child upon this earth? 

No hand that shaped the stars above, 

Would measure worth by race or land. 

The light that rises with each dawn, 

Falls gently on every outstretched hand. 

Until no life is counted lesser, 

Until no voice is cast aside, 

The question lives in every age, 

Who stands within, and who outside?

Perhaps the answer is not written, 

In parchment, power, or decree. 

It lives each time we choose another, 

As worthy of humanity. 

Only then will "We the People" 

Become more than history's refrain, 

A living vow that every person, 

May walk in freedom, free from chains.

The Distance I Chose

Standing far apart from colleagues' crowded space,

I wear my silence like a quiet shield. 

Not because I fear their voices, 

But because I know what their whispers yield. 

 They were the ones who betrayed my trust, 

Turning simple moments into tales untrue. 

They invented words that I never spoke, 

And painted lies as though they knew. 

They cast me as the villain, 

While hiding behind smiling faces. 

In their false hope stories, 

I became the shadow that filled their empty spaces. 

My presence is their grieves, 

My Isolation is their happiness, 

I chose to isolate because I love them though. 

As the bible said “Love your enemies”

The Straight Nail and the Bent Nails

Google Picture 

In an old blacksmith's weathered place,

Four nails lay still with quiet grace.

Upon a wooden plank they stayed,

 As time and silence gently played.

Three were bent with rusted pride,

 Mocking one they stood beside.

The fourth was straight, both firm and bright,

 Prepared to serve with all its might.

They laughed and said, "Why strive each day?

Just rest with us and drift away.

You work so hard for little gain,

While we are free from toil and pain."

 At last the carpenter drew near,

His practiced hands both firm and clear.

He passed the crooked nails aside,

For they had lost their strength and pride.

The straight nail, shining, caught his eye;

He chose it without asking why.

 Into the pillar, deep and true,

Its faithful heart its purpose knew.

The hammer fell with every blow,

 Each strike brought pain the nail would know.

The bent nails laughed from where they lay,

Believing they had won the day.

But when the house stood tall and strong,

 The straight nail knew where it belonged.

 Hidden within the steadfast frame,

Its sacrifice became its fame.

The bent nails, left in rust and dust,

 Slowly faded into rust.

Forgotten by the passing years,

They vanished with their idle cheers.

 For strength is proved through trials borne,

 Not by the ease of a careless morn.

The ones who stand through pain and test ,

Become the pillars of the best.

 So when the world may laugh at you For doing what is right and true,

Remember this: though trials prevail,

A faithful heart becomes the nail.