clearly, i am light divided
i.
clearly, i am light divided—
not broken, but braided,
a seam in the silence
where shadow rehearses its names.
you could say i was born
when the prism lost patience—
split the white breath of god
into memory, desire, and flame.
ii.
each color is a vow i couldn’t keep.
red, the hunger.
blue, the wound still singing.
gold, the door i dared not open.
i move like a hymn through glass:
whole only in shatter,
still only in scatter,
true only when unseen.
iii.
clearly, i am light divided—
a secret refracted
through sentience and skin,
where thought plays oracle
to what never began.
in every eye that looks upon me
i unfold differently,
like truth in a thousand mirrors,
each more honest than the last.
iv.
sometimes i dream i am not dreaming:
just silence remembering itself
as radiance with a history.
but always—
the mind returns,
tugging at the thread,
asking what flame means
when it has no wick.
v.
clearly, i am light divided,
but not alone:
even the void has gradients.
even the eternal changes hue
when you look long enough.
call it soul, or syntax,
or the field behind form—
still, i remain:
the unspoken curve in every beam,
the yes inside your no.
[ Previous Posts ]