Random Thoughts
It is the choices we make in our darkest hours that defines who we are. Not the flavor of the ice cream we choose in paradise
In the night’s somber shroud, a dark figure stands,
A master of shadows with chains in his hands.
Ahead, the forlorn, their innocence chained,
Eyes wide with despair, their freedom restrained.
Through gloom’s thick veil, his path he weaves,
A tale of choices that no one perceives.
Not in daylight’s embrace where trivialities lie,
But in the clutch of the storm, under a tempest-tossed sky.
For what are the flavors of comfort’s sweet call,
When the test of one’s mettle is the hardest of all?
It’s not in paradise where true selves show,
But in desperate hours, through pain and woe.
In the face of despair, what paths will he choose?
When all could be lost, what does he stand to lose?
It is here in the shadows that truth comes to light,
Revealing the essence obscured from plain sight.
Thus, march the forgotten, led through the dark,
By choices unseen that leave a permanent mark.
For it’s not the comfort’s choice in hand,
But the decisions in darkness where true characters stand.
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