Inside the Places that Light Can Not Reach

Inside the Places that Light Can Not Reach



Trenches carve silence in the ocean’s deepest folds
where pressure crushes and light dies before arrival—
beneath ice pressed tight by a thousand years,
where silence sleeps in frost older than stars—
limestone cathedrals rising from the littoral hush,
where even echoes have forgotten the sun—

Deep in the brain’s hippocampal fold, 
where memory glows with flickering dreams, 
tucking beneath thought, pulled by slow ache—
the ear’s labyrinth of tiny bones defiantly keeping  
the body in balance, guiding our every step—
inside the marrow birthing our blood—

Inside that kept secret,  that black moment 
just before confession—where shame touches longing
breathe unwitnessed— an unnamed grief, a sorrow
we haven't dared name, that waits 
under the umbra of our skin, begging forgiveness,
yet silent, shapeless and still—  

The other side of our Event Horizon, 
where our inner physics humbles itself—
beyond the veil of all our black holes—
that suspended moment before forgiveness stirs
and does or does not come—when neither—
has spoken— and the past— holds its breath.