The ache of asking Who am I?
Is the fire that longs to justify.

The urge to rise and prove my name
Is the quiet spark that feeds my flame.

The pull to look within my soul
Is the need to make my spirit whole.

The need to pen these thoughts tonight
Is my heart demanding voice and light.

The craving to let every truth be heard
Is the will to reshape the world with words.

This restlessness will walk with me,
Through fleeting days and eternity.

It will whisper, press, and gently strain,
Until the soul dissolves its silent pain.

So let it ache, let it burn, let it be,
For the crimson dawn awakens me.

.    .    .