He sees the shadow in the dark,
A bridge, a vessel that leaves a mark.
The one who doesn't look away,
Whispering what others dare not say.
A witness, a connection unseen,
Crossing the rift where worlds convene.
Chosen by fate's own ways,
One who listens when silence stays.
Neither a prophet, nor a simple seer,
But an echo that writes the unknown.
A keeper of all things in-between,
Guarding the myths that dwell alone.
They come to him in secret gloom,
Sharing their stories, a whistle to bloom.
Vanishing once they bare their heart,
Completing their sacred, spiritual art.