Three Messengers

On the first night, I was summoned, Shadows gathered with their scrolls in hand. Ghosts of the past read out their questions, Soft as a warning, sharp as a command. They said, "What truth have you delayed? What truth have you delayed?” And I felt the wheel turning, Pulling me back to the center again. Three nights, three messengers calling, Three doors I can’t ignore. They ask what I’ve hidden, what I’ve silenced, What I still carry at my core. But I’m standing in the center now, Awake, unbound, made whole. Everything I choose from here Is written by my soul. On the second night, I was shaken, By the voice of my sister in the dark. She whispered of endings, whispered of freedom, A tender release, a soft‑burning spark. She said, “What love have you not spoken? What love have you not spoken?” And the wheel kept turning, Calling me back to myself again. Three nights, three messengers calling, Three doors I can’t ignore. They ask what I’ve hidden, what I’ve silenced, What I still carry at my core. But I’m standing in the center now, Awake, unbound, made whole. Everything I choose from here Is written by my soul. On the third night, I was startled, By a union that never should be. A marriage of bloodlines twisted together, A pattern repeating its history. They said, "What patterns do you still carry? What patterns do you still carry? And the wheel kept turning, But this time I turned with it. At the center of the wheel, I’m standing — Not accused, not bereaved, not bound. Just a soul that’s waking, rising, Hearing truth in every sound. So I ask myself in the quiet, As the old roads fade from view: "What pathways still summon me? Which new ones will I choose? Three nights, three messengers calling, Three truths I can’t ignore. They showed me the shadows, showed me the longings, Showed me the keys to every door. And I’m standing in the center now, Awake, unbound, made whole. Everything I choose from here Is written by my soul. Everything I choose from here Is written by my soul.