I keep my answers folded tight,
like pocket-knives asleep at night.
Sharp enough to change a life,
hidden just to shine.

They watch the unopened letter of me,
sealed with a quiet I’ve learned to keep.
Expectation grows like a tide
pulling hearts to the shore of my silence.

No, I don’t lay my cards in the open,
I’ve seen too many stories break that way.
Mystery has a music of its own
a low hum that keeps the wolves at bay.

They say honesty heals,
but I’ve seen truth shatter glass.
A promise spoken too soon
turns fragile, turns hollow, won’t last.

So I build my silence like temples,
let golden echoes hold the roof.
Every word I don’t speak
rings louder than the ones I do.

And I learned from the sky
how clouds hush their thunder
until the moment the world needs to kneel.
Nothing divine rushes its reveal…
so why should I?

I mix a little mystery into everything
let it shimmer in the spaces between breaths.
Let them wonder, let them wait,
let their eyes trace the shape
of the truths I haven’t said yet.

If they watch me long enough,
if they listen past the noise,
they’ll hear the choir in the quiet
the holy sound of poise.

If I speak too much, they’ll stop listening.
If I speak too little, they’ll lean in.
But the art lives somewhere in the middle,
in the heartbeat held before the hymn.

So I walk that line like scripture,
every pause a place to rest.
And the world bows—not to what I’ve spoken,
but to what I haven’t said yet.

Because I,
who has seen the world unveil,
learned the only spell that never fails:

Keep matters in suspense…
and they’ll hold their breath
until you exhale.