THE PLACE WHERE SHADOWS KNEEL
- May 15
- 1 min read
By Dr. exit
In the quiet hours,
When the world forgets its own
breathing,
I hear the soft cracking of the soul,
Like ice underfoot,
Thin, trembling,
Pretending it’s strong enough.
There is a room inside me,
Where the lights never learned how to
live.
Shadows sit in the corners,
Hunched like old prophets,
Whispering truths no one wants to
claim.
They tell me sorrow has bones,
Fragile but honest.
They tell me joy can bleed,
Yet still be called joy.
Some nights I touch the mirror,
Just to feel something answer back,
Even if it’s only the echo of everything
I’ve tried to bury.
I’ve learned that beauty isn’t always
light.
Sometimes it’s the hand you reach out
while sinking,
the quiet vow, that even drowning won’t
stop you from searching
for a shore you’ve never seen.
And maybe that’s what keeps me
moving:
The faith that broken things can still
hold meaning,
That darkness can cradle you without
becoming your grave,
that even a trembling voice can demand
the universe to listen.
If you hear me,
Take a moment,
Not to save me,
But to look into your own dim hallway,
The one you avoid when you smile too
hard.
Stay there,
Let the silence unravel you.
You might find, as I did,
That the shadow you feared most
was simply a version of you, tired of being unseen.