Between the Flame and Shadow

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I stand where light and shadow meet,
Where kindness walks and villains greet.
A silent eye, a mind unbound,
In echoes deep, I hear the sound.

I see a hand, so soft, extend—
No motive clear, no aim to mend.
A smile that heals, though none may know
If heart or habit made it so.

I watch the thought that darkly grows,
Fed not by evil, but by woes.
A wound ignored, a voice unheard,
Twists love into a sharper word.

Kindness—pure or planned with grace—
May bloom or wilt in time and place.
Its touch, divine or unaware,
Can soothe the soul or miss the care.

Yet shadow too, though born of pain,
Speaks truths the world would not explain.
The villain's wrath, not always vile—
Sometimes it walks where angels smile.

A gift that’s scorned may turn to dust,
A broken heart may learn distrust.
And yet the flame, despite the rain,
Still rises softly through the strain.

Not every kindness strikes its mark,
Not every shadow hides the dark.
Some deeds are done with no intent,
Some harms by carelessness are sent.

And still, they move—both flame and smoke—
Through tangled lives, through words we spoke.
I see the dance, the give, the take,
The hearts that build, the hands that break.

The world is neither pure nor cursed,
It’s both the healer and the hurt.
And in this blend of night and day,
I see the soul’s unending play.

So judge I not the flame or shade,
For both are tools of what is made.
Kindness may fail, and wrath may teach—
The truth lies somewhere out of reach.

I only watch, and sometimes feel
The depth of what we all conceal.
And whisper this, with open mind:
Be slow to hate, be quick to find
The story underneath the scar—
Both kindness near, and shadow far.

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