THE LOCK BETWEEN MY HALVES

‎THE LOCK BETWEEN MY HALVES ‎ ‎My skull wears a fracture no surgeon can name, ‎Two halves of one body, yet neither the same. ‎One rises above, while the other sinks low; ‎What splits me in silence, no stranger may know. ‎There is a lock at the back of my head, ‎A keeper of secrets I never confessed . ‎Its teeth hold no tongue, its keyhole no plea, ‎Yet something stays fastened that longs to be free. ‎ ‎Tell me, am I broken, or merely divided? ‎Am I one soul in pieces, or two souls colliding? ‎Is the crack my beginning, the lock my defence, ‎Or the cost of surviving my own consequence? ‎I could be my captor, I could be my guard, ‎The hand that deals mercy, the fist that strikes hard. ‎I could be the prisoner, the jailer, the key, ‎All locked in one body, with nowhere to flee. ‎ ‎And what if the lock is not there to confine, ‎But to keep what is scattered from crossing the line? ‎What if these halves, though estranged in their place, Would fall into nothing if stripped of their brace? ‎ ‎So don't call me healed because I still stand upright; ‎A house can stay standing while burning inside. ‎Don't call me whole just because I remain ‎Some things stay together without ending their pain. Look closely: my hand rests alone on my shoulder. ‎No witness can tell if the deed has grown older. ‎Perhaps it has finished; perhaps it has stayed. ‎Perhaps there is nothing that needs to be played. ‎ ‎I will not invent what the picture conceals, ‎Nor dress up in certainty what no one reveals. ‎The hand is a hand; the lock is a lock. ‎The rest is a silence no gaze can unlock. ‎But look at the lines that keep crawling like wire, ‎The dark tangled threads that resemble a fire. ‎A body, a burden, a mind out of place. ‎A war with no battlefield, fought in one space. ‎ ‎And who holds the holder when holding gets hard? ‎Who watches the watcher who stands on his guard? ‎Who locks up the pieces when pieces won't stay? ‎And who keeps the keeper from breaking away? ‎Perhaps I am good; perhaps I am bad. ‎Perhaps I am all that I've lost and I've had. ‎Perhaps there are no two who dwell under my skin ‎Just one weary soul with a war held within. ‎ ‎So let the lock hold. Let the fracture remain. ‎Let no one mistake my endurance for painlessness. ‎I need not explain what I cannot define ‎Not everything broken must break on the outside. ‎And if one day the lock should loosen its hold, ‎Will I scatter like ashes, or finally unfold? ‎Will the halves fall apart, or discover their place? ‎Will I meet myself whole or confront my own face? ‎ ‎I have no conclusion, no key, no release. ‎No promise of healing. No borrowed peace. ‎Just a lock at my back and a split in my crown ‎And the strength to stay standing ‎when falling feels ‎like the only way down. ‎ ‎©️DORHTAWARES.