Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay
They came with hungry eyes,
but shallow hands.
Took from the surface,
never dared to understand.
They mistook mystery for performance,
depth for drama,
warmth for weakness...
and turned cold before the flame could speak.
You were not too much.
They were too little.
Too rushed to read
the language of your silences.
Too brittle to hold
what was real and unfinished.
You’ve wept in moonlight
and risen in gold,
built a world where truth
is quietly bold.
You don't linger in their shadows.
They linger in yours.
Still, you walk...
anchored in purpose,
tempered by fire,
a human forged,
not waiting,
but open.
And if you are not afraid
of what's unspoken,
of what doesn’t perform
but pulses beneath...
then perhaps,
you’ve been looking for me.
--Hazel E. Guler
but shallow hands.
Took from the surface,
never dared to understand.
They mistook mystery for performance,
depth for drama,
warmth for weakness...
and turned cold before the flame could speak.
You were not too much.
They were too little.
Too rushed to read
the language of your silences.
Too brittle to hold
what was real and unfinished.
You’ve wept in moonlight
and risen in gold,
built a world where truth
is quietly bold.
You don't linger in their shadows.
They linger in yours.
Still, you walk...
anchored in purpose,
tempered by fire,
a human forged,
not waiting,
but open.
And if you are not afraid
of what's unspoken,
of what doesn’t perform
but pulses beneath...
then perhaps,
you’ve been looking for me.
--Hazel E. Guler
