The Stoic Citadel (Stoicism)
The storm may break the branch and flood the field,
The marble bust may crumble into dust,
But to the mind that knows the power to yield,
No outer thief can steal the inner trust.
Between the blow and how the heart receives,
There lies a space where only reason reigns;
The wise man does not mourn the falling leaves,
Nor binds his spirit in the tyrant’s chains.
Control the spark, and let the wildfire die,
For grief is but a shadow of the will;
Beneath the vast and unregarding sky,
The centered soul remains entirely still.
What fate decrees, the steady hand accepts,
While in the breast, a private peace is kept.
No comments:
Post a Comment