Patience, my master.
Suffering, my muse.
Obsession, my dominant disposition.
Vigilance, my protector.

An opening arises,
where I can finally rest my reins.
But the moment of stillness never arrives,
For legions of ghosts lurk beneath my skin,
Unleashed from the archives of the past,
Wearing the masks of who I used to be,
Returning the burden which almost escaped me.

If only I were allowed to sink,
melt into the moment,
and blend into its memory,
then maybe—
maybe I’d hear the grand symphony,
the pulse of the melody stitching my wings,
a forgotten cadence stirs in my throat.

Remembering how to sing,
I release these voices from the deep:

As I’m retaught how to love,
Transcending my fixations,
My eyes restore the pages,
Resolving the tension within,
Embracing the reality,
And becoming my own friend.