NBA.m4a

History ain’t made by statues in stone, 
It’s carved by hands that broke the throne. 
Not kings, not lords, not polished pride, 
But the ones who walked when told to hide. 

They said, “Hold fast. Obey the plan.” 
But walls don’t move for the quiet man. 
It takes cracked minds and open flame 
To melt the mold and rename the game. 

If no one reached, we’d never fly, 
Still staring dumb at a low-lit sky. 
No wheel, no pen, no fire-lit cave— 
Just passive bones and an unmarked grave. 

If no one stood, there’d be no bridge, 
Just cliffs of fear and silence lived. 
But someone screamed, “Let’s try the dark!” 
That’s how the world got its spark. 

Comfort kills and wears a smile, 
Sweet in tone, but bleak in style. 
It wraps you soft, but slows your breath, 
'Til passion rusts and dreams meet death. 

It tells you wait, it tells you rest, 
It lures you off the mountain’s crest. 
But Earth don’t pause, and time don’t freeze— 
Why should we bend for minor ease? 

Look at the roots that crack through stone, 
The stars that birth in death alone. 
The wind that bends but never breaks, 
The sea that pounds and re-remakes. 

Cells divide without permission, 
Life’s arc never asks submission. 
And yet mankind, brilliant and vast, 
Builds its own cage and calls it “past.” 

What if the ape had stayed in the trees? 
What if fire died from a lack of “please”? 
What if wheels were feared as witchcraft lies, 
And flight dismissed as foolish tries? 

Would we be here, wrapped in code, 
Speaking light in the data load? 
No. We’d still be crouched in fear, 
Worshipping thunder, year to year. 

So here’s the rub: Has man just quit? 
Accepted chains and called them wit? 
Resigned to grind, to kneel, to spend— 
Afraid to break what might not bend? 

If apathy was our ancestral cry, 
We’d never have dared to touch the sky. 
The silence now is not decay— 
It’s choice deferred. It’s fear in play. 

No chorus here, just quiet breath, 
The place where apathy mimics death. 
You, dear soul, are still in bloom. 
So will you rise—or make more room? 

Will you feed the loop, or break the code? 
Will you lay bricks or crack the road? 
Because history don’t need perfect men— 
Just brave ones, who say “when?”

The Silent Choice

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