Merit's Quite Lane

In the chorus of the crowd’s loud cries,  

Voices rise, seeking some kind of fair,  

But in the clamor for a greater space,  

We weave a web that binds one too tight.  

The banners wave, bright with fervent hues,  

Yet shadows linger in the eager light,  

Where merit’s voice, once strong, can softly fade,  

Drowned beneath the weight of a heavy hand.  

A door opened wide, yet shut for some,  

While others, claiming rightful seats, are choked,  

In the scramble for a place at the table,  

The essence of the gift is lost and dimmed.  

Let skill and grind be key to the ascent,  

The ladder’s rungs should hold with steady grace,  

And not be spooled with threads of undue claim,  

Where worth must rise, without the guise of art.  

In this vast field of equal claim and want,  

May we remember what the plain truth tells:  

To guide and grow, we must invite, not shun,  

In harmony, make room for every heart.