When we descend into the quiet
into the velvet dark of true listening
we enter the chapel of another soul
not to bind, not to break
but to witness

Their sorrow speaks in riddles
wrapped in centuries of silence
a ghost at the edge of their voice
we do not chase it away
we light a candle
and let it speak

Perceptions, like cobwebbed mirrors
shatter softly
under the gaze of compassion
a truth buried in bone
rises, blinking, into the moonlight

This is no small rite
it is an unbinding
it is blood turning back into song
it is the old magic
that mends what violence tore

Between lovers
between kin
between villages & warring crowns
a listening heart
can raise the dead
not to haunt
but to heal

Yes, it is that powerful
and yes
the spell begins
in silence