The Alchemist

He gathers whispers, dust, and dreams,

Distills the silence to a gleam.

From ash he draws the breath of flame,

From chaos carves the soul’s true name.

 

No stone, no ice, no secret key

Can bind what is meant to be.

For every spark he dares hold

Turns part of him to purer gold.

 

He labors still where shadows climb,

A servant not to Earth, but Time.

And in his heart, the truth takes form—

To master Will, one must transform.

Done