I know there you do have your lovers, of what I am deep in admiration of, now.

I am one of them, those who stand in amazement, blurred in your sight.

You are the iron hand in the velvet glove,

The smirk behind the mask,

The goddess behind the rags

The knight disguised as a squire.

The Sorceress behind a squib.

The wildfire behind the trace of smog.

One who exists in solitude, in self.

The self that is peaceful, yet fierce.

The self that is dark, but never empty.

Dissembling who you are,

for the blind and deaf.

Occasionally revealing, often baring

your soul in its veracity, with honesty

You've realized it's.....convenient?  Probably, relieving.

The absurdity that is alluring,

A creature uncertain of his materiality....

The fire that's been held in,

in a dilemma of being surreptitiously exposed.

You cannot hold it in, and gladly, neither is it your wish.

There's an infinity in the universe you hold within this physical,

And I've never watched so closely, a being of your kind.

The more I peer, the clearer I see.

Yet as long as the veil continues to protect you, you're in there.

I intend to tenderly lay you bare,

of the slight covers that keep you an absurdity, a secret, a mystery?

And I'll smile at you a gentle one, I need to know who you are.

I guess you must have asked yourself a hundred times,

while laying in your bed, floating into the unwordly...and after.

I hope you keep that up. Not for the inquietude, but quite for the opposite.

Building your fortitude brick by brick,

On days, feebly watch it peel down...like an erosion wearing it out.

Build it back again piece by piece, this is the guardian of the Wall.

Get closer to who you are, every night and every dawn,

Growing over the contradictions on that path to detachment,

Absorbing every emotion you'd imagined or not.

But you know, pain heals you, heals the restless soul that used to be more

scattered, is it a little less haywire now?

Does it bring you closer to who you are.....?

But like the humans, I assume you need it too.

And my hand involuntarily lifts up to your cheek,

While the fist mildly grips your mane at the back of your neck,

Pulling in close as if trying to see through you.

That's, although, the subconscious intention.

But more so, a gesture of admiral, of discern.

In a way as 'normal' as anything you'd seen.

As if glancing in a mirror,

the lunacy fades away.....for now... I think. But yes.

The obsession and the insanity come to senses.

"It's who you are."

A crawling wave of acceptance and serenity has started to insinuate into us.

"It is who we are. Who we will be."