In the garden of the soul,
Where desires bloom and fade,
True conquest is not the uprooting,
But the ceasing of the blade.

The craving may still whisper,
Like wind through autumn leaves,
Yet the heart stands unshaken,
No longer caught in weaves.

To conquer is to know peace,
Not in absence, but in presence,
Where want and need may dance,
But cannot sway your essence.

The battle ends in stillness,
Not with sword, but open hand,
For in no longer fighting,
You truly command.

Indulgence may still beckon,
A sweet song on distant shore,
But you've found an ocean within,
Vast and content to its core.

The storm of longing subsides,
Not quelled, but understood,
In this quiet lies true power,
Beyond the reach of should.

To conquer is to witness,
The ebb and flow of desire,
Standing firm amidst the current,
No need to quench its fire.

For in this gentle surrender,
To what is, not what could be,
You find the truest victory:
At last, you are free.