Limitations press like walls,
Close and narrow, high and tall,
Silent forces, subtle chains,
Soft as whispers, hard as reins.

They guard the edges of our reach,
A quiet teacher, here to teach,
Of patience, pause, and paths unknown,
Of knowing strength that’s not yet shown.

Yet boundaries bloom in hidden ways,
Guiding stars in shadowed haze,
They shape the map of who we are,
Though the journey feels so far.

Not every climb will find a peak,
Not every silence fills the weak—
Some walls are gifts, unseen designs,
The roughened stones where we define.

Though limits mark the space we roam,
They test the roots that lead us home,
So when we push and feel the strain,
We find ourselves, through loss and gain.

For limits yield a paradox,
Keys and cages, bars and locks—
They bind, they bend, they make us whole,
The sculptor’s hand upon the soul.