I climbed the stage with constellations in my hand

I climbed the stage with constellations in my hands, Spoke in silver syllables no one understands. Built my cathedral out of metaphor and flame, But all they heard was noise wrapped up in my own name. I thought my thunder would awaken sleeping skies, Instead I saw the boredom flicker in their eyes. My revolution dressed in velvet, dressed in pride— A sermon no one asked for amplified. So take your little trophy, hold it to the light, Smile for the cameras, step back from the mic. Swallow all the brilliance you rehearsed inside, Let the grand illusions quietly subside. If no one wants your gospel dressed in silk and youth, If wisdom sounds like vanity uncouth— Then bow your head, let the moment pass you by, Just say thank you. Don’t explain why. I carved my thoughts in marble made of sound, Certain they would shake the holy ground. But profundity can suffocate a room When it blooms too big, too self-assumed. I wore conviction like a tailored suit, Every sentence absolute. But truth that shouts to prove it’s true Turns sacred things to residue. So take your little trophy, nod and wave, Let humility be something you can brave. You don’t need to set the world on fire tonight, You don’t need to prove your mind is right. If your poetry feels heavier than air, And no one asked you to declare— Then lower your flag, let the silence fly, Just say thank you. Don’t clarify. Maybe wisdom whispers, doesn’t roar. Maybe less is always more. Maybe truth arrives without parade, Unafraid of being unsaid. Maybe greatness isn’t loud, Maybe it kneels instead of proud. Maybe power isn’t speech— It’s knowing when not to preach. So take your little trophy, small and bright, Hold it gently in the fading light. Let the speeches die upon your tongue, Let the over-written lines go unsung. You don’t have to win the war of words tonight, You don’t have to turn their dark to light. If the room is tired and so are you— Just say thank you. That will do.