The Light That Remembered My Name

Before they called me by titles
I couldn’t carry,
before I answered to labels
that never fit,
there was a whisper
carved in flame.

And it knew me.

Not the me shaped by survival,
but the one formed in silence
before the crowd,
before the proving,
before the masks.

I tried to forget it.
But it never forgot me.

When I was drowning in performance,
when I stitched myself into roles,
when I begged for crumbs of approval
that light stood still.
Waiting.

It didn’t shout.
It burned.

And one day, I turned
and it called me again.
Not by failure,
not by fame

but by the name
only Heaven knows.

And I remembered
I am not who the world named.
I am who the Light still sees.

—Joe Restman
Mystic-Scribe | Flame-Bearer
Quill Dipped in Lightning ⚡️