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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In the silent blizzard of my thoughts, I reflect upon the madness that unites the crowds, Where the masses of individuals consider all who are not part of the collective madness to be insane, Anyone who crosses beyond this thick wall of conformity, It is natural for the masses to hate the man of truth: he is a sower of storms in their noisy calm. With your lies, you feel safe, building walls of convenient fabrications, And then, from the shadows he appears, unsettling the waters of your noisy tranquility, He provokes your doubt, shakes your blind faith in the dogmas that have shaped you, The truth, always in contradiction with the mask of the crowds, shines like a cold light in the night. Truth is individual, like a solitary star on a dark velvet sky, And the masses are not interested in truth, but in comfort, in simplistic consolation. The masses seek only that bittersweet convenience without making any effort, Preferring to relax in those comfortable illusions that serve only as a temporary balm for empty souls. The masses are not composed of explorers, adventurers, or courageous people, Who venture into the unknown without fear, risking their lives to discover meaning, To understand life in all its complexity and dark beauty. The masses only want to hear pleasant lies, to remain in their cozy corners, shielded from the challenges of truth. The crowd hates those who want to be UNIQUE INDIVIDUALS, Those who seek their own destiny, a path tread by individual steps, A different lifestyle, carved in the stone of their own will. In the depth of a conscience that flows like a river of silences, I feel how the tranquility of conventional lies fades, In a world where truth rarely finds its place, A world where my name is just one among many, But my soul screams to be heard, to be recognized in the silence of the crowd. Along the path of shadows elongated by the eternal sunset, In a world of broken dreams and fragile hopes, We seek the lights of truth, deep and dark, Where each step is a question without an answer. Truth calls us, a burning call within, The masses will never understand this call, Preferring to drift in the grand ocean of their false calm, But we, those who seek, those who dare, Will traverse this silent blizzard, carrying truth in our souls, Knowing that truth is itself a sublime form of solitude. And thus, in our solitary solitude, we find ourselves, We discover the untrodden path that only the brave can follow, In a melancholic waltz of existence, where answers come and go, But the search, the search continues, like an old song in the night, And the truth remains – a fragile balance between the calm of lies and the storm of reality. And in this quest, we become who we truly are, Not just an echo in the crowd, but a unique, clear voice, That shines in the darkness, defying the collective madness, And finally, our truth, eternal and personal, offers us that true peace.
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