In shadowed vaults where silence creeps,
The world beneath its axis sleeps.
A trembling thread, both tight and thin,
Keeps storm without and peace within.

The gales of madness roar and spin,
With howling mouths and silver grin.
They claw at minds, they kiss the flame,
And call the stars by broken name.

Yet Balance walks with quiet grace,
A veiled ghost in no fixed place.
One foot in dark, one hand in light,
She dances slow through wrong and right.

The storm may scream, the chaos bite,
But Balance blinds the blaze of night.
Her whispers tilt the spinning spheres,
And lull the heart of hollow fears.

So mark the wind, and mark it well—
What stirs the soul may also quell.
For in the space where tempests reign,
She weaves the calm between the strain.