Within the fabric of existence,
Prophets emerge as beacons,
Not birthed in void, but stirred
By the whispers of a culture at risk.
Heralds of tomorrow’s vision,
They rise amidst the crisis,
Crafting messages of fortitude,
Weaving threads of hope.
Their roots delve deep,
Tethered to spiritual bedrock,
Echoing ancient tales and pacts
Between divine and mortal.
Yet, prophets are not stagnant,
Immersed in tradition’s embrace,
Yet beckoning change,
To meet new trials head-on.
Guides in human form,
Teaching pathways to cease anguish,
Altering the trajectory of ruin,
A call not for the celestial,
But for conscious, earthly steps.
You, too, are a prophet, awake,
A guardian of revelations,
A custodian of thoughts
That birth potential worlds.
So, withhold not that sacred shard,
Time fleetingly whispers,
Share it far and wide,
Transforming hardships into blessings.
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No vacuum births a prophet.
They bloom from a culture’s tremors, early warnings whispered in the dark.
Herald of visions, they chart resilience in crisis, hope a lantern against the dying light.
Bedrock traditions anchor their words, ancient stories echoing promises made between gods and men.
They breathe new life into old tales, reminding us of forgotten paths.
Immersed in the past, they urge transformation, guiding hands through fear’s labyrinth.
Teachers, not mystics, they call for conscious action, a chorus rising to quell suffering’s tide.
Embrace your own wisdom, they urge, steer humanity towards a sunlit shore.
You are awake, a prophet in your own right, keeper of revelations that can birth a new world.
Don’t bury your spark, for time is fleeting.
Share it freely, like blessings woven from adversity.
Be a voice in the chorus, echoing hope’s refrain.
Let resilience be your thread, weaving a tapestry of light where shadows once danced.
You are chosen, whispers say, to illuminate the path, a torchbearer for a dawn yet unseen.
Go forth, with open heart and fearless voice, for the world awaits the song your soul now sings.
