If you would grow not just in years, but in the stature of your soul, Then listen, child—come sit with me, before the shadows roll.

The world I built was tall and proud, its banners stitched with flame— But now I see, too late for some, it bore no noble name.

I once wrote songs for marching feet, for steel and empire's climb— But blood should never be the ink that stains the page of time. I sent my son to fields of war; the earth received his bones. Yet no one told him why he died—just speeches cast in stones.

Let me now speak of greater things than conquest, rank, or throne— The virtues that outlive the flags, and shape a world your own.

First: be true, though all the world may shift— Let no mask buy you safety, let no lie become your gift. Stand naked in your honor, though the crowd may jeer and call— A self betrayed is lost to life, though you may fool them all.

Next: hold firm when compromise is sweet— For power bought by silence drags your conscience by the feet. Do not trade your voice for gold, nor mute your mind for peace— The man who bends to save his skin is owned by his release.

You’ll stumble, child, this path is laced with stone. But rise again, and rise again, and rise again alone. The storm is not your enemy—it shows you what you are. Each scar you carry sings a truth no coward gets to wear.

The fire within that no one else can claim— Let it light new worlds from ash, and never burn for fame. Make not for praise, but out of love, and dare to build the strange— For minds that heal the world to come must first learn how to change.

Do not wait for schools to hand you keys. Read the books they hide from you, and study as you please. Your questions are your teachers; your failures, too, are guides— For knowledge earned and not bestowed is truth that never dies.

And lastly: Greatness—not of power, land, or name— But greatness of the quiet sort that plays no winning game. Greatness of the listening ear, of holding when it’s hard, Of lifting others up the hill while never seeking guard.

If I could write “The White Man’s Burden” now, I’d burn it in the flame— And pen instead “The Great Man’s Burden”—shorn of pride and shame. To carry truth through chaos, to live with sharpened sight, To pass to those behind you not dominion, but the light.

So build no flag above your head unless it's made of mind— The only empire worth its name is one that makes men kind. No more boys in soldier’s boots, no more girls taught to be small— Rise by virtue, rise by thought—and never march at all.

If they should ask why we once fell—don’t let the record lie. Say: “Because our fathers lost the truth, and sold their children’s sky.” But __you__—you have another chance. Rewrite what we betrayed. This time, no blood. No lies. No chains. Just minds that will not fade.