My Only Throne 

They polish mirrors, bend the glass,

And claim they’ve caught the truths I pass,

But fractured light can never show,

The roots beneath, the depths I know.

Suspicion knocks, yet I won’t speak,

No proof to give, no mask to seek,

For silence holds the gentler art,

The witness of a tender heart.

Perceptions turn like restless seas,

Each wave demands, each shadow pleads,

Still I remain, no tale to spin,

A keeper of the self within.

So let their questions rise and fall,

I owe no answer, none at all,

What blooms in me is mine alone,

A quiet flame, my only throne.

Cathrine Hottran 2025