As It Comes….I Will Remain … Schanntel

Warlocks and creatures spun a scheme:
to steal a man away from his soul.
Devious and quiet, the plan took shape.

A friend hid in patience, waiting for the perfect hour—
the night when the lowly slip into shadow.

He watched to see if the seed he’d sown would take—
the seed that grows only rot, the seed that leaves a fruitless tree.

All through the night his moves were counted, measured.
I could not read the hour, only feel it drawing near.

Now — wake.

Wake to the proof I’ve been shown.
But your eyes were distant, pleading;
all that returned to me was anger, disgust, deceit, the taste of being broken.

Then time itself stopped, arresting the burn at the base of your skull.

Wasn’t it perfect? The timing, the touch, the small rejoicing —
as if we hung, suspended, between heartbeats.

Now it’s time to cleave the demon in two.
Wouldn’t revenge be sweet against the ones who hurt us?

What control remains when every moment is scheduled?

What plan can you make if you cannot see the next step?

And as the clock struck silence,

I realized the truth —

the plan was never theirs.

It was His all along.