The Audience of One

​In the quiet hum of a steady pace, They watch and judge our lack of haste. "Too slow," they whisper, "adrift and still," Oblivious to the climb or the height of the hill. ​But if we should rise and find our stride, To move with purpose, no longer to hide, They sharpen their tongues and change the view: "You’re trying too hard; it’s a show for you." ​Why should we run to chase their praise? Why seek a reason in a hollow maze? If we stop, we’re "lazy," if we act, we’re "vane," A cycle of judgment, a circle of pain. ​But the world doesn’t hold the key to the soul, Nor do their words make a broken heart whole. For the hands of the critics are empty and cold, With no power to save or a life to uphold. ​Let the noise fade away like the evening mist, For a greater Love is why we exist. I will walk my path, neither fast nor flawed, For I move for no one—save for God.