Unmarked, untitled …

… from the piles of meanderings scratched here and there:

If I sit, it sits.
In the quiet, watching … listening.
If I speak, it holds my words.
Bringing them back for me to face again.
If I move, it moves.
Becoming the mirror of my ways.

All this,
Without judgement.

It is forever with me.
Dwelling in silence,
Melding into the perceived darkness of shadows.

It is my captive.
Held without want.
Held without need.
Only to be with me,
Though I seldom, if ever, recognize or acknowledge its presence.

It is my power.
It is my essence,
Though I walk as one proud in and of my self.

Little do I know what I could be.
Little do I know the man I truly Am.

And then it speaks,
Albeit in a whisper.
Amongst the clamoring of my self,
It speaks.

It speaks of Truth.
The only Truth.
Known beyond time,
Held with the darkness …
Awaiting a moment of recognition.

How is it this Light dwells so comfortably in the shadows?
As if it knows Its time will come.

I came to a place where I heard You.
Finally.
After such amazing patience on Your part,
I came to a place where I hurt beyond imagination.

It was then I was able
to stand,

to hear,
and to walk.

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