Mirrors lie, but the echo holds truth,
in the quiver of tones,
my proof of proof.
I narrate each step,
a whisper beneath breath,
for in the rhythm of speech,
I fend off the specter of death.
My reflection, a stranger,
a ghost in glass,
but in every word spoken,
I anchor my past.
Silence, a void too stark, too crude,
an unwelcome pit where fear is renewed.
When words falter,
the shadows stretch wide,
a world fading to black,
with nowhere to hide.
My voice, a lifeline,
through the void it must sweep,
for without its vibration,
I’m lost to the deep.
If I can’t speak, I disappear,
vanished in silence, consumed by fear.
My voice, the only trace of me
that feels real,
in its resonance, I heal, I feel.
Lost in a world
where sight can deceive,
it’s the sound of my soul
that I truly believe.
Doubt lingers
where reflections can’t find,
but in spoken words,
my identity’s defined.
So I’ll keep talking,
keep singing my song,
in my voice–my only truth, strong.
A proof of existence, a spoken hold,
in the melody of speech,
I find my place in the cold.