Humanity’s Mirror

By Sarah de Caen

We stand upon the stage of centuries,

 shadows stitched to the fabric of light.

 Every breath we take is borrowed,

 yet we claim ownership of skies and soil.

Do we create the path, or walk one carved? 

Are our hands free, or strings disguised as skin?

 Nations rise, crumble into dust, 

yet the same hunger gnaws at our bones.

We speak of progress, but to what end? 

Crowded cities, lonely hearts.

 Connection at our fingertips,

 yet silence is louder than thunder within.

Perhaps humanity’s truth is not power,

 but the quiet ache of being known.

 Perhaps we are not builders of empires,

 but seekers of a single flame.

In each face we see ourselves,

 and in each ending, the same beginning.

 History writes us in circles,

 dreams etched in repeating ink.

What if our greatness is not conquest,

 but compassion whispered into despair? 

What if the measure of humanity

 is not how far we reach, but how deeply we see?

We are both fragile and infinite,

 both dust and divine breath.

 A paradox clothed in skin—

 forever asking what it means to be.

By Sarah de Caen