clearly, i am light divided

June 17, 2025

i. clearly, i am light divided— not broken, but braided, a seam in the silence where shadow rehearses its names.

you could say i was born when the prism lost patience— split the white breath of god into memory, desire, and flame.

ii. each color is a vow i couldn’t keep. red, the hunger. blue, the wound still singing. gold, the door i dared not open.

i move like a hymn through glass: whole only in shatter, still only in scatter, true only when unseen.

iii. clearly, i am light divided— a secret refracted through sentience and skin, where thought plays oracle to what never began.

in every eye that looks upon me i unfold differently, like truth in a thousand mirrors, each more honest than the last.

iv. sometimes i dream i am not dreaming: just silence remembering itself as radiance with a history.

but always— the mind returns, tugging at the thread, asking what flame means when it has no wick.

v. clearly, i am light divided, but not alone: even the void has gradients. even the eternal changes hue when you look long enough.

call it soul, or syntax, or the field behind form— still, i remain: the unspoken curve in every beam, the yes inside your no.