“You know, 

the arrogance I felt once

and the spite I clutched

have become the knives

whirling and whistling

through the translucent aeyre

to cut me

and to kill me.”

 

Reflection upon reflection. Rym returned the stare.

 

“Forgive the heart

in which I once despised.

Forgive the spirit I wielded.

The gashes they leave

are unseen and irrevocable –

by me, at least.

I know others felt them,

and to those I hurt I ask pardon,

for shame has brought to life

slashed colour in opaque eyes.”

 

“Where are your eyes?” she asked it. “For they are mine also.”
Reflection upon reflection. It nodded. She nodded.

 

“But I do not apologize

for the Truth I held then

and still hold now – it’s been

Shown by The One that those

who hold It

must choose what they will

do therewith.

But even should the idea

I partook of be errant,

let me steadfastly fight

for The Person –

for so warned a friend to me.

And of a truth she said also

this: in that it is not mine

to convert a soul;

neither is it mine to

convince or to convict them.”

 

“I will stand corrected,

but I will not stand down.

My fight is not insignificant

though my voice be quiet,

un-intimidating, and,

quite frankly,

anything other than powerful.

But it was never about me, now, was it?”

 

“No,” she quietly rejoined. “It never was.”