Flicker of Unspoken Truth

There is a glow here,

a quiet beam slicing through the dust of a still room,

a flicker caught between breath and silence,

the kind of radiance that feels like both a promise and a warning,

like the soft betrayal of light breaking on water that has held secrets too long,

self-deception swimming beneath the surface,

waiting, patient as the slow turning of the world.

I sit, still as stone,

watching the beam catch a single ripple,

a pulse moving outward in waves too delicate to hear,

yet loud enough to fracture the weight pressing on the quiet,

a moment suspended between what is and what is about to be,

the tense hush before the next breath,

before memory folds into the present like a whispered prayer,

before something unseen shifts,

a light bending around a shadow,

a secret caught in the web of a breath.

This is the moment I hold,

not with grasping hands but with quiet eyes,

a monk’s silent witness to the dance of radiance and dark,

the flicker that speaks in tongues of things lost,

the beam that carries the weight of what was betrayed,

and the glow that rises like a slow, unspoken truth;

a break in the water,

a light caught, and a world suddenly changed.