The Silent Architect Poem by Liam Sharples

The horizon fractured, cut precisely clean,
A perfect balance where the light divides,
While overhead, a phantom rarely seen Carved fire across the black, indifferent skies.

They brought the needle and the iron thread,
To stitch your spirit to the ancient floor, To feed you fear, to make you bow your head,
And cage the wild soul that was born to soar.

Then came the heavy years, the crushing weight,
The long, dark winters where the world fell cold.
You walked through fire, wrestled with fate
That breaks the weak and turns the young men old.

Through storms of isolation, sharp and deep,
When every instinct begged your soul to
Yield,
You refused to join the slumber of the sheep,
And bled in silence on a lonely field.

For deep within the marrow of your frame,
A silent architect designed a wall- A rare negation in the vital stream, That will not bend, nor compromise, nor fall.

Let temples crumble into history's dust, Let blind men argue for the paths they chose;
Your sovereignty is not a thing of trust, It is the silence where the wild wind
blows.

I will not crawl to purchase one more breath,
Nor barter freedom for a safer cage, I'd rather break completely into death Than let compliance write my final page.

No human master owns the breath you take,
No tribal myth can hold a mind so clear.
The sky was split the day you came awake,
And in your kingdom, there is none here.