The Whispering Voices

When the clock whispers midnight, and your shadow is your only guest,
Then come those who know how to whisper the truth into the night.
The first – that voice which, like a wound, seeks light in the darkness.
The second – the one who accepts pain as God’s caress in the gloom.
And the third – quiet, like a prayer blooming from lips that remain silent.
And beside them – the final guest, who teaches how to love both death and tenderness.

And there they stand all around. Your life is their altar.
You ask them: “Tell me, why have you planted a heat within my chest?”
The first answers: “So that you may see the truth that heaven and hell are one.”
The second whispers: “So that you may love in the darkness that will not pass.”
The third says: “To be quiet, holding all the pain within yourself.”
And only the fourth smiles darkly: “So that death might seem to you like a goal.”

And you stand among them as a shadow, alive between the light and the fire.
And the flower in your chest blooms with blood.

You are the truth within yourself.