In Search of a Gentle Truth

In Search of a Gentle Truth

She walks through mirrors, each one a lie,

Reflections shifting as she passes by.

A thousand faces, none her own,

A world uncertain, yet fully known.

She sought the truth in books and hands,

In whispered prayers, in foreign lands.

She weighed her thoughts against the tide,

Yet every answer bent and lied.

Some swore the world was sharp and bright,

A blade of reason, carved in light.

Others claimed it was a dream,

A fleeting glow, a silver stream.

But she was neither lost nor found,

Just spinning circles on the ground.

Each time she grasped a thread of sense,

It unraveled in the present tense.

And yet she walked, and yet she tried,

Through shifting sand and changing skies.

Not for glory, not for fame,

But for a truth that had no name.

Then one day, not loud nor grand,

She felt the world press in her hand.

Not fixed, not clear, yet strangely kind—

Not truth, but peace, she hoped to find.

And so she stood, no more to roam,

And let the world just be her home.