We gather where the roads converge,
a hall of many hands,
each one of us had chosen once
to leave our separate lands.
No single voice commands this room,
no throne sits at its head,
we sit in circles, side by side,
and share our daily bread.
The weaver brings her patient thread,
the smith, his steady flame,
the dreamer brings a half-formed song,
and no one asks their name
before they pull a chair for you,
before they make you room,
for here the choosing is the gift,
and welcome is the loom.
We chose to stay, we chose to build,
we chose to lend a hand,
and every choice, though small alone,
becomes a place to stand.
When doubt arrives, as doubt will do,
we pass it round the fire,
and shared between a hundred hearts,
it burns a little lower.
No path was wrong that led us here,
no detour was in vain,
for every road that brought us in
is woven in the chain.
So here's to those who chose to come,
and those who've yet to find
the open door, the lighted hall,
the guild of humankind.
End
Subject: This poetry explores the concept of guilds and how they benefit humanity.
Good Day
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