Paper Faces

Light in the sleepless hours

is tissue-thin—

a bandage laid upon an old, invisible wound.

The pain itself has long forgotten

its own origin,

save for two companions: spark and smoke.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Between them, a border flickers,

drawn by the weight of a single breath—

a quiet tremor in the fabric of night.

Those who glimpse it

are the first to stretch toward dawn.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Behold, at the hearth’s return—

flame remembers your outline.

You who wandered the shade’s corridor,

kept in its velvet cradle,

while I, cautious of cause or destiny,

let my fire curl inward.

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Buried deep in quiet soil,

the embers lay dormant—

yet I whispered them awake,

a soft inferno, tender but sure,

turning night’s silence rose-colored.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tell me then: what hides beneath the alias?

Regret? Penance? Falsehood lacquered bright?

No—cast them upon the current!

You learned compassion’s mimicry well—

a mask taught by sorrow’s twin.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You favor gentleness,

draped like soft silk at twilight’s edge.

Your light—

half waning, half reborn—

leans pink against the dark horizon.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Flame and shadow trade disguises,

as they always have.

You wear deceit like a tailored coat—

each incarnation, more seamless than the last.

Sweet talk, bright laughter—

a serpent in evening clothes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

But mouths remember truth’s angle.

Even honey hides its sting.

Any tongue can flatter demons—

crumbs, cakes, or soft applause—

until every promise turns to soot.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Memory burns cleaner than guilt.

Names twist in the smoke;

and flames, I’m told,

are accountants of the dark.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

My blaze may scorch the innocent,

while your lotus of ink

shifts shapes endlessly.

But even light, in deepest night,

can blind the seer—

and you will lose petals to the trap.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Still, I vow restraint.

Come forth—

You belong to the shade as I to the ember.

This realm knows no master,

but you may yet learn its beasts.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

What is in a mask?

Not fruit, but hunger.

You gather sweetness before it rots—

apple, plum, forbidden pear—

beloved currency of the corrupted.

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One remains untouched: the cherry,

dark, bitter—shadow’s favorite.

Invisible, unclaimed.

I’ve heard it brews a rare elixir,

red as the heart’s secret.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They say there’s a hidden coast—

a false homeland with a familiar name.

But what’s in a name?

Only layers of sugar hiding the sting.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

My parting wish is for your

unveiling journeys.

Light at dawn returns,

soft as breath across forgotten ink.

History exhales—thin,

like a pulse beneath parchment.