We do

We do what's said to be important

but it never reaches the place inside

where the light bends

Nothing is erased

Even goodness feels warped

tilted

as if it grew somewhere

far from the sun

And behind it

something waits

Not holy

Not crue

Just aware

We breathe with us

in the same drifting dark

We do

Time doesn't carry us

It drags us slowly

pulling strands loose

letting us fall

like a feather taking too long

to touch the ground

We tremble.

We give.

We break.

And every time we try to speak truth

it flickers

fades,

slides away

leaving a thin cut of meaning

we didn’t expect

Most of us follow any sound

just to feel a less lost

a voice

a footstep

a warm promise

floating somewhere in the static

And ones who stop moving

start to dim

like an old radio

losing its last signal

First a crackling

Then the long slow fade

into nothing.

Do you hear it?

Masks dropping

Soft echoes

One

then another.

Do you hear it?

The faces underneath

feel strangely familiar

like looking at yourself

from a corner of the mind

you never meant to open

We are borrowed notes.

In a song we never chose

Drifting on rhythms.

that were already playing

before we arrived

The shepherd calls

But the voice splits

shivers

like someone else

is speaking through him

from a room made of stars

And when the music fades

when everything slows

to one last trembling tone

Did we choose any of it?

Or were we just reaching

blindly and weightless

for the echo

of a shadow

that had already drifted away