The Dark Could Not Raise Me

Before the owls, before the train, I knew the cupboard, lock, and blame. Beneath the stairs I learned to hear Which footsteps brought me food or fear. In borrowed clothes, behind a door, I learned how small a child could feel. Yet roots can split the hardest stone; Their cruelty never became my own. Pain leaves its shape beneath the skin, But cannot choose what grows within. The dark could house me, mark me, name me, Still it could not raise me to be cruel. I broke, I burned, I spoke in anger - I was never spotless, never whole. When every wound said, “Be the hand That made you kneel so long ago,” I chose the light, then chose again: In darkest places, something good can grow. Another orphan, cold and bright, Made fear a throne and power his right. He split his soul to master death; I bore one shard with every breath. We shared a tongue, an orphaned start, But not the choice that shaped the heart: He made the world kneel to his pain; I chose to love, and chose again. The past may speak with borrowed breath; A choice can answer even death. The dark could house me, mark me, name me, Still it could not raise me to be cruel. I broke, I burned, I spoke in anger - I was never spotless, never whole. When every wound said, “Be the hand That made you kneel so long ago,” I chose the light, then chose again: In darkest places, something good can grow. Do not make a saint of me. I judged too fast; I failed to see. I chased revenge, I spoke in rage, I feared I’d never leave that cage. But courage is not being clean; It is refusing to become The thing that taught your heart to run, And walking on when hope is gone. The dark could house me, mark me, name me, Still it could not raise me to be cruel. I lost the ones who made me stronger; Still, I would not let grief rule. When death itself said, “Come and meet me,” I went so others could go home. Not every seed is given sunlight - Still, in darkness, something good can grow. The dark remains a part of me, But never all I choose to be.