In the quiet chambers of the heart,
Where whispers of conscience softly play,
A dance begins, a moral art,
Guiding footsteps through night and day.
Shadows stretch, both dark and bright,
In every choice we make or shun,
We weave our tales with threads of light,
As stars do weave the rising sun.
The echoes of the past resound,
In every path we dare to tread,
The weight of truth, its silent sound,
A compass in the thoughts weâve fed.
Yet in the end, when dusk does fall,
And silence claims the fading light,
We see the dance within us all,
A testament to wrong and right.