Currents of the Unseen

I am not the surface you see,
but the river flowing beneath fractured glass,
where light splinters into pieces of me—
each part a contradiction,
the calm before the storm,
and the storm itself,
quiet yet brewing.

I am the tremor in the earth,
felt but unseen,
a force building behind the stillness,
where reflections ripple,
distorted but real.

I am the laughter that hides behind scars,
the passion simmering beneath the weight of words.
I am the echo in the cave of silence,
both the whisper and the void,
a song sung too quietly
for most to hear.

I hold time like sand in my hands,
slipping through, yet never truly gone—
each grain a story,
each one a memory
etched in the labyrinth of me.

I am the pulse of the ocean at night,
silent yet alive with currents,
drifting between worlds of what is and what could be.
I am the dream that fades at dawn,
but lingers at the edge of waking,
always felt, never quite grasped.

In me, the universe folds inward,
a spiral of thoughts spinning into galaxies,
while I stand at the edge,
both observer and creation,
lost in the swirl,
yet tethered to the quiet center.

I am more than the roles, the names, the moments—
I am the space between them,
the seeker of meaning in the chaos.
I am a map without borders,
forever tracing the infinite paths,
finding, losing, becoming,
until I touch the horizon within.