Is there a light in the world
that can shed clarity
on these questions?

My voice sounds sorrowful,
as if it’s weeping in the silence
that has been stolen,
never fully closed off,
and unable to share what is real.

In thought, one might ponder:
How can I inflict harm
with forbidden words
while tearing apart
from what I truly desire?

Secrets are etched in books,
captured between lines,
frozen in a soft revelation.
I am trapped in thoughts.
The sorrow of a trusted one
who has been deceived.

And then... I realize I have changed
and taken leave of a chill
that lies deep beneath,
but never revealed.

I ask: is this who I truly see?
Always revisiting earlier questions,
one wonders who we were now,
in the present.

With every breath comes the question:
If everything becomes later,
and stopping only continues
to move forward,
will we proceed incomprehensibly?