Dear magical orders, this is written with regard.You raised strong walls; I was chalk in your yard.
You banked your flame in a shuttered lantern
While kids strike sparks from a search-bar pattern.
There’s trauma in timelines, spirits in threads,
They scroll for sigils and bruise their heads.
They don’t need robes, they need orientation,
Not pixel potions with no foundation.I see lost stars in the midnight glow,
Lone wolves circling with nowhere to go.
You say “swear oaths” then you close that door,
So they bleed in comments and call it lore.
You were built for this storm, for this very age,
Yet you watch in silence while they burn on the page.I honor the vows that guard what is true,
The chains of trust that were given to you.
I’m not asking you to profane the shrine,
Or pour out pearls for an endless timeline.
I’m asking elders to sweep their halls,
Name the dangers, answer calls.
Give tools, give context, say what bites,
Ground the groundless before the rites.How many bright minds fell through the gaps,
Tried one spell and shattered their maps?
You watch from the side while the young miscast,
Then blame the ocean for breaking the mast.
If inheritance means you let them drown,
What kingdom stands when the heirs go down?Open your libraries, don’t break your oaths.
There’s a road between them; you can walk in both.
Let basics breathe in a language new,
Keep the bones of the craft, but renew the view.
From temple tiles to cracked phone screens,
Let the current move through living routines.Tradition’s not dead; it’s aching to heal.
Rust off the iron, temper the steel.
This isn’t a raid on a sacred crown,
You can lift them up without dumbing down.
If the work is real, it can bear this test:
Stop hiding the map from those who beg for steps.Adapt, or fossil; but choose with care—
The current runs on with or without your prayer.
If you claim the mantle of keeper and guide,
Then stand where the wounded are breaking inside.
Let wise ones speak where the lost can hear,
So “order” means refuge, not just veneer.With respect for your lineages,
And concern for those outside your doors.
You watch from the side while the young miscast,
Then blame the ocean for breaking the mast.
If inheritance means you let them drown,
What kingdom stands when the heirs go down?Open your libraries, don’t break your oaths.
There’s a road between them; you can walk in both.
Let basics breathe in a language new,
Keep the bones of the craft, but renew the view.
From temple tiles to cracked phone screens,
Let the current move through living routines.Tradition’s not dead; it’s aching to heal.
Rust off the iron, temper the steel.
This isn’t a raid on a sacred crown,
You can lift them up without dumbing down.
If the work is real, it can bear this test:
Stop hiding the map from those who beg for steps.Adapt, or fossil; but choose with care—
The current runs on with or without your prayer.
If you claim the mantle of keeper and guide,
Then stand where the wounded are breaking inside.
