The blueprint of your spirit is a map without a key,
A harbor kept in secret from the surging of the sea.
For every word you whisper is a thread they’ll try to pull,
Until the garden of your mind is empty, gray, and dull.
The world is full of editors who crave to change your script,
To blunt the blade of passion or to sink a sturdy ship.
If they can see the target, then they’re bound to take the aim,
And use the sparks of who you are to feed a hungry flame.
The root that grows in darkness is the one that holds the tree,
The silence in the middle is the soul\'s own sanctuary.
Build a wall of mystery, a fortress made of mist,
For no one breaks a promise that they don\'t know does exist.
So walk within the shadows where the prying eyes are blind,
And keep the gold and silver of your purpose deep confined.
For what is left unspoken is the only thing you own,
A kingdom built on quiet, where you sit upon the throne.
\"The silent dog is the first to bite, and the silent soul is the first to fly.\"