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The Consequences of Stealing
When you steal, it’s more than an object you take—
You sever a thread in the soul you forsake.
That bracelet? A gift from a mother now gone.
That wallet? A dream that someone leaned on.
Behind every item lies a story untold,
A piece of a life that was cherished and bold.
To you it’s just something—cheap, small, or fast,
But to them it’s a moment that never comes back.
You may not hear the silent cry,
Or see the look in their searching eye.
But a wound is made, silent and wide,
And something pure begins to die inside.
In taking what’s not yours to claim,
You tarnish your truth, you darken your name.
A flame within flickers low and cold,
And down a darker path, you’re pulled.
Yet there’s a choice before that fall—
To rise, to grow, to heed the call.
Learn the worth of honest trade,
And let your light shine undismayed.
Respect what’s theirs, find your own way.
Stealing may take, but it won’t ever pay.
Copyright ©
Michael Fulkerson
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