In the steel-clad expanse of existence, there comes a day when one seeks a touch of the ethereal.
Around you, humanity echoes the rigidity of iron and the inertia of stone.
Cast in immutable forms, they persist unchanging.
Devoid of the warmth of life, they stand—a tableau of
reslence—like raw ingots awaiting the blacksmith’s strike.
With a disconcerting ease, they’ve embraced the notion that their wrought shapes define their essence.
Indifferent, they remain, whether life’s relentless forge renders them polished and nondescript, or molds them into distinctive silhouettes.