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Trust. Trust. Trust that what feels broken
still holds the scattered light

Trust. Trust. Trust in the darkness that the
unknown, the unseen, is forming

Trust. Trust. Trust that time is a construct we
have created to invite in suffering

Trust. Trust. Trust that all that exists is openness,

There once was a woman,
and I cried at her feet.
And she whispered trust.
I melted.

I became the holy rivers flowing out of me
I became the darkness and the light
I became the wild and the tame,
the known and the unseen
I became the construct and the pliable possibility

One day, perhaps, the word will become
etched forever upon my skin
No matter, for they have always been etched upon my soul