I walk through the quiet corridors
of my mind,
echoes of thoughts—some mine, some borrowed—
rattle against the walls.

In the spaces between breaths,
I listen for a voice
I’ve never quite known,
but always carried within.

It sounds like a forgotten song
just beyond reach,
as I sift through the layers
of who I was, who I became,
and who I might yet be.

Each step feels like peeling back skin,
fragile, translucent,
revealing something raw beneath.
A vulnerability exposed to the wind,
where every breath stings, but heals.

The layers fall away,
each one a memory, a scar,
and beneath it all,
there is truth—untamed, unpolished,
waiting to be born in the open air.
In this shedding, I am becoming,
closer to the essence of what I am,
even if it burns to touch.

There’s no map here,
just the pulse of something ancient,
guiding me forward,
whispering that there is no end to the search,
only moments of finding,
only moments of losing again.

And still, I keep walking,
because within this endless wandering,
there’s a kind of home.
A place where silence speaks,
and the stars feel close, as if they know
the secrets I carry, the dreams I chase.
Each step, a rhythm, each breath, a song,
guiding me through the unknown,
where belonging is not a destination,
but the journey itself—
and in the vastness, I find peace.




© Bobby Priest