He Unnameable

 

                           He Unnameable 

They say we harvest what we sow…

Yet I scattered seeds of love and reaped shadows.
I planted joy and gathered silence.
I planted presence and received only the echo of absence.
Yes — we always harvest something,
but destiny reveals its fruits in its own unfathomable time.

Madness, ancient phantom of the unseen realms,
I flee from you as one flees from a fire
that burns not the flesh, but the essence.

Allow me to dwell within my own inner cosmos,
where I still command the constellations,
where storms obey my breath,
where I remain sovereign over the chaos that crowns me.

With trembling hands and a spirit laid bare,
this is no plea —
this is a summoning cry,
resonating through the chambers of my chest
where confusion has woven its roots
like spectral vines hungry for light.

You — absence with form, silence with gravity,
riddle without cipher —
entered me without words,
yet leaving echoes heavy as stone.
Reality and illusion swirl before me
like twin flames performing a sacred dance,
and I, wandering between worlds,
seek to discern what is dream
and what is decree.

Despair cloaks me in a mantle of thorns,
each thought a battlefield,
each memory a fallen temple.
And still,
I walk.

Across mountains carved from sorrow
and valleys sculpted from uncertainty — I walk.
For within me dwells a warrior made of starlight,
a fire that no shadow can extinguish.

I reach out —
but you are forged of stone and mist,
a labyrinth without center,
a manuscript written in vanished ink.
Yet I search for you in the margins of the impossible,
believing that my eyes may still reflect
a future where you take shape —
whole, present, luminous.

I sowed hope and harvested quiet.
I sowed tenderness and received thorns.
Still, I sow —
for hearts woven of persistence
continue even when the cosmos whispers to stop.

Madness,
that ancient temptress of forgetting,
calls to me with the promise of oblivion.
But I retreat inward,
into the sanctum where my will still reigns,
where I am empress of my own abyss.

And if one day
someone reads this message — even with the eyes of the soul —they will know:

I fought.
I trusted.
I loved.
And even on the brink of collapse,
I chose to walk toward the dawn,
carrying the ache of a thousand absences
and the fire of a thousand rebirths.