The Gathering

In the dim-lit corners of my mind,

they gather,

Three shadows cloaked, each of

them darker than the last.

Fear sits first, a trembling shape, a

quiet whisper;

Then Shame, who casts his eyes

down, weighed by secrets of the

past;

And last, there stands Anger,

smoldering like embers,

Arms crossed, eyes locked, daring

anyone to ask.

I turn to them, feeling the weight of

their gaze,

"Why do you linger here, as

shadows that never fade?"

Fear shivers, voice thin as a spider's 

thread,

"I am here to protect you - from

pain, from risk, from dread.

If you don't step forward, there's no

danger to fall."

"But if I don't move," I reply, "do I 

live at all?"

Fear shrinks, quieted, but Shame

steps near,

His words are hushed, as if only I

could hear.

"You're not enough," he murmurs,

voice cold as stone,

"Remember the things you've done,

the wrong seeds you've sown.

I am here to remind you, to keep 

you in line."

"And if I let you stay," I sigh, "do I

leave myself behind?"

Anger huffs, eyes blazing, fists

clenched tight,

"Listen to me instead, and I'll make 

things right.

They've hurt you, haven't they?

Betrayed what you are."

His voice rises fierce, like the spark

of a star.

"I am here to shield you, to keep

you strong."

"But if I hold you close," I say, "will I

end up in the wrong?"

They fall silent, my companions in

this room of thought,

And I see them, for once, not as

demons I fought,

But as fractured pieces of a whole

yet to mend,

Each playing their part, each a

twisted friend.

"Stay if you must," I say, "but know

this true:

I am more than you three. I am all of

me too."

Fear wavers, Shame bows, Anger's 

fire grows dim,

As I stand in the silence, whole

within.