It’s all right to be anything—
every shape, every form.
Creativity in the sky
teaching us how to change
without breaking.

A body walking toward peace,
like waves spending their own force,
like a symphony rising
without a single center.
A world leaning toward equity—
strength learning restraint,
weakness discovering lift,
a shared music finding balance.

The conscience of the ordinary
stirs awake,
recognizing what has always been there—
greatness folded quietly
into common hours.

We remember what Hannah Arendt named:
evil without spectacle,
evil doing its work politely, efficiently.
But listen now—
ice breaking open,
a thunder moving through us,
shockwaves traveling outward,
loosening what was frozen.

Something shifts inside the human mind—
from reflex to reflection,
from fear firing first
to intention taking the lead—
a turning from amygdala-driven reaction
toward the steadier work
of the prefrontal will.

Justice asks for light.
For laws that breathe.
For order with a pulse—
like a painter’s initials hidden
inside an eye,
truths waiting patiently
in plain sight,
daffodils insisting
along the curb.

And then—
a thousand birds
rise at once,
a living current rewriting the sky,
fluid as breath,
warm with the closeness
of beating hearts.
They turn and fold together—
clouds with intention—
each shielding the other,
fear losing its aim.

It’s all right.
Life presses hard,
seals the road—
and still something flows,
still form remembers
how to break through.

A famous face tilts slightly away,
seeing without staring.
Cold sharpens the air,
storms gather—
yet the birds lift,
past dread,
past permission.

Darkness cannot hold the sound.
Spring arrives loudly.
Birth always does—
a firecracker of love
cracking the silence open.

Ah—
a world we did not predict.
A season new to the tongue.

Can you hear it—
human dignity rising together,
not finished, not flawless,
but unmistakably alive?

On Milan–Cortina ice and snow,
a thousand birds take flight—
edges flashing, bodies carving light,
energy braided with skill,
beauty sharpened to precision.

They rise from frozen ground,
from breath and muscle and resolve,
finding height where gravity insists on limits.
Each leap answers pressure,
each turn widens the sky.

Against the cold, they learn freedom.
Against the weight of expectation,
they spread their wings farther still—
flying not away from the world,
but fully within it.

Here, on white silence and bright steel air,
they reach the highest place—
and from there,
they fly widely,
uncontained.

Now—
time’s so divine
to rejoice.

— TaeHun Yoon, 2/7/2026