They move quietly through crowded rooms,
harboring dreams like hidden constellations.
Their hands sketch symphonies in the air,
constructing bridges where none existed before.
No spotlight sweeps toward their faces,
no parade marches behind their victories,
yet they weave threads of impossible courage,
patching holes even the sky overlooks.
What a tremble of wonder they ignite,
the ones the world forgets to notice!
Their laughter hums like secret machinery,
fueling revolutions while hearts are healed.
Imagine the soil stirred by their steps,
how it whispers, "Here grows something rare."
These are the ones who map tomorrow,
their light invisible—until it blinds.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: January 1st, 2026 10:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
A poem that intrigues because it does not name the they. Nicely done Gray Happy New Year to you
Thanks Soren and Happy New Year to you and yours
"They" referrs to those smart individuals that fly under the spotlight radar
You are most welcome Gray Yes a Happy New Year
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