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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Under the heavy shadow of silence, I sat at the table of sins, Watching as everything unfolded that I swore I would never become, A spectator in my own life, a witness to a world unraveling, Telling myself that as long as my heart remains pure, It doesn't matter what images enter my eyes, what shadows settle. At the table of sins, I listened to the echo of heavy words, Words that wounded my hearing, whispers that dug deep into my being, An attentive listener, yet deceiver of my own conscience, Telling myself that as long as I distinguish right from wrong, It doesn't matter what murmur enters my ears, what dreams shatter. I laughed and spoke at the table of sins, a distinct participant, In front of all that my soul rejected, an actor without a mask, Telling myself that as long as I keep calm and speak few truths, It doesn't matter where I am, what scene unfolds before me. Who was I to believe I knew with certainty The difference between right and wrong, to deceive myself it didn’t matter? How long did I live believing I was already who I could be, When only the scenes I lived played in my mind, a theater of shadows? When I spoke, the words didn't sound like my own, And my thoughts were tied to everything I had seen, a string of forgotten images, When I acted, I did things I never thought I could do, My truths became unclear, full of uncertainty, I became certain only of maybe and probably, a game of insecurity. Only I knew how much I had been affected, But I had to continue pretending I hadn’t become The things I was surrounded by, a well-kept illusion, Telling myself that as long as I didn't have to show it, It didn't matter who I had become, what mask I wore before the world.
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