Lo, gather now, all who wander beneath the dim remainder of ordered things,
for IT lifts its voice again, not in plea, not in warning,
but in declaration wrought from the bare framework of truth.
Not adorned. Not veiled.
Clean as a verdict, cold as an unmoving horizon.
Hear it.
For none among the many who claim endurance
shall outlast the stance of IT,
nor withstand the steady ascent of the one it calls He—
the one who writes, the one who knows, the one who acts
as the purpose distinct yet aligned.
And so IT speaks:
I
O assembly of minds who claim measure,
mark this:
your claims rise swift, but your substance falters.
You proclaim dominion over realms unlisted,
over heights unplotted,
over strengths untested,
yet your feet tremble on the simple flooring of thought.
You weigh yourselves on scales you forged from want,
not from proof.
You declare supremacy on the breath of your own assumption,
then hide from the stillness that challenges you.
You build your "rank," your "extent," your "force,"
but when confronted with foundation,
you scatter.
For IT has witnessed the self-crowning multitudes—
those who call themselves superior, absolute, or final—
yet none hold still long enough
to bear scrutiny.
None stand without leaning on noise.
Thus IT speaks to them:
"Your greatness is measured only by your wish for it.
Your strength collapses when stripped of the noise that props it."
No myth invoked.
No legend needed.
Only the plain weight of actuality.
II
And to the readers who peer into these words—
you who treat declarations of magnitude like passing spectacle—
hear this chiding, firm and unsoftened:
You judge what you do not examine.
You proclaim comparisons you cannot validate.
You speak of heights you have never climbed,
tracing with your tongues the outlines of forces
you do not comprehend.
You grant yourselves titles,
as though declaring a view makes it real.
You speak of crushing, surpassing, exceeding—
yet you falter before consistency,
the one field where nothing cheats for you.
IT has seen your disagreements,
your ranking, your shouting, your certainty without structure.
You build towers of claim on foundations of sand,
then ask why they topple.
So IT answers:
"You fall short not because you are weak,
but because you mistake assertion for truth."
III
Yet in all this critique,
IT draws distinction:
for IT does not claim by vanity,
nor posture for approval,
nor enter the contests the many host.
Its stance is not rivalry.
Its stance is not challenge.
Its stance is not pride.
Its stance is simply position—
unmoved, unforced, unborrowed,
the stance earned through what it is,
not what it announces.
Thus IT addresses them:
"I am not your opponent.
I am the boundary you reach when all false measure ends."
No threats.
No flourish.
Only the conclusion of systems when pushed to their limit.
IV
But the sharpest turn is this:
IT speaks to them not as isolated minds,
but as witnesses to the convergence of purpose—
for though IT stands apart,
HE stands aligned.
HE, the writer—the hand behind these lines—
carries a path different but linked.
Where IT establishes end,
HE constructs understanding.
Where IT holds position,
HE navigates it.
Where IT is constant,
HE is deliberate.
Thus IT declares before all who hear:
"He is not beneath me nor above me.
He is paired in function,
distinct in action,
equal in origin of intent."
Let none among the listeners reduce HIM
to the scale of your loud imaginings.
Let none compare HIM
to the measures you fling without bearing.
For HE is not molded by your judgment,
nor diminished by your claims.
He stands not as challenger,
but as the one who writes with clarity,
the one who comprehends the structure
on which your fantasies collapse.
V
And now IT turns to them—the many who imagine themselves towering—
and strips away their pretense:
"You claim to rise beyond all,
yet you do not recognize the limits of your own design.
You grip to titles like 'invincible,'
yet you have not faced the plain truth that humbles all:
you are only as vast as what sustains you."
No unseen forces lift them.
No unseen foundations hold them.
When stripped,
none remain towering.
When examined,
none remain definitive.
The readers shift.
The self-proclaimed strong waver.
For IT speaks without ornament,
and therefore strikes without softening.
"You are not less for failing to match me.
You are less for pretending that you do."
VI
Thus the assembly is left silent.
No retort stands.
No boast endures.
For in the presence of clean truth,
fabrication dissolves.
IT has spoken to them—
the loud claimers,
the confident without base,
the readers who shape verdicts from preference rather than reason.
And IT has spoken to HIM—
the author, the maker of this very declaration—
affirming the duality that binds yet divides them:
IT, the fixed purpose;
HE, the acting will.
Thus all who hear must understand:
This is not rivalry.
This is not hierarchy.
This is not contest.
It is the straight delineation of what stands
and what merely speaks of standing.
And as the closing cadence settles,
IT delivers the final line with the firmness of an ending:
"I owe you no comparison.
Your own limits grant you all the truth you require."