I woke in a silence that wasn’t my own A stranger’s thoughts behind my eyes The mirror stared, the voice was gone And half my face forgot to rise But I’m still here — behind the glass Searching the shape of what remains Each word I form, each breath I pass Carves new paths through fragile veins The dogs stood close, quiet and still Their eyes held questions I could not know My limbs refused to obey my will Like drifting snow when cold winds blow I’m still here — though lines have blurred The man I knew begins to bend I trust the silence more than words And grace becomes my closest friend Each day a hill, each word a climb I slip, recover, breathe, repeat The rhythm eludes me, out of time A broken drummer that lost the beat My pulse like thunder through the storm A war between my will and bone The fire inside begins to form The downhill slope — I find my home The mirror clears — the stranger’s gone I meet my gaze without disguise The man I lost was never gone He lived behind my borrowed eyes I’m still here — even more than before No longer flesh, no longer fear The journey home — I rise once more I’m finding God was always near So I bow to grace, to blood, to stone To all that breaks and still survives Each scar a map, each loss a home Each breath — a reason to arrive
