same song. but different

during tumultuous storms in white
shadows come out to play
swaying better judgement
taking up room
until i am not me
but them.

blinded.
using language as a fist.
i hurt.
you.

long lost battles leave their legacy
concealed behind the reflection
in tarnished mirrors.

an understanding
of symbols and their significance.
the non existence of forgotten things.
only edges become obscured.
then reappear.

trust me when i say my back
will only bend so far.
only so many times
the same circle can be walked.

i will stop.

observe the choreography
of the things that bring us to life.
the point, we are taught,
is invariably about what happens
along the way.

history was not lost on me.
it made me. is mine.
but write my future it will not.

i turn to the teachers.
the orchestra swells
and the heart
remembers itself.

conviction,
as naive as it may be,
rages. and you, my friend, will witness
the burial of the shadows..