The days run me ragged, work grips me tighter than sleep, by the time I reach home my body folds into silence, my pen lays heavy, dreams undone by fatigue. I know the channel has been quiet, followers drift like passing winds, but silence is not absence it is the weight of duty, the grind that feeds the flame. Stay with me through the stillness, the words will rise again, and when they do, they’ll carry the fire of nights I sacrificed to build tomorrow. Patience... for even poets must rest between battles.