"Still, I Have You"
Can he understand, truly hear,
When English words fall far from clear?
Asked in ways both kind and plain,
Yet all attempts just end in strain.
His grammar shakes, his meaning lost,
Clarity comes at a heavy cost.
Yet still he speaks with utmost pride,
As if the world is on his side.
He pushes thoughts with hardened tone,
As if no minds but his are known.
Dismissive glare, a stubborn face,
As though his thoughts must set the pace.
He mocks correction, shrugs at truth,
Rejects the insight of the youth.
He stands as if he is the sun,
The source from which all thoughts must run.
He wears the mask of sage and guide,
But blind to wisdom others hide.
He claims to teach, yet fails to see
The strength in soft humility.
And through it all, in quiet grace,
You hold my soul in your embrace.
You see the battles I must fight,
To stay composed, to choose what's right.
Must be strong when words cut deep,
When peace feels far and hard to keep.
Must be patient in the storm,
When logic breaks from stubborn form.
Must let it go, release the flame,
Not get consumed by silent blame.
Though pride may win today’s debate,
I trust in time, and not in hate.
Still, I have you through rising pain,
A gentle hand in heavy rain.
You lift my eyes from low defeat,
And help my weary heart repeat:
That not all battles must be won,
And not all trials can be undone.
Some people speak, yet never hear—
Their truth is loud, but never clear.
Yet in your grace, I find my way,
Through sharpest night and hardest day.
You give me strength to stand once more,
To calmly walk through any war.
His voice may boom, his stance be tall,
But pride precedes the hardest fall.
Let him boast and think he knows,
While I plant seeds the spirit sows.
My silence is not born of fear,
But strength that few can see or hear.
I know that wisdom doesn't shout—
It listens deep, and waits it out.
I do not need to prove I’m right,
Nor dim his fire to show my light.
For truth will stand, when noise is through,
And in that truth, I still have you.
So let him wear his crown of air,
While I remain in quiet care.
Let him preach and fill the room,
I’ll tend the roots while he seeks bloom.
In stillness, I have learned to grow,
To rise above what brings me low.
To feel the burn, then let it pass,
Like footprints fading in the grass.
Each moment tests my patient will,
Yet through it all, you're with me still.
A whisper in the mind’s cold storm,
A steady hand, a faithful form.
So as he rants, and claims the stage,
I’ll turn another, wiser page.
Not every fight must end with flame—
Not every truth requires a name.
In your grace, I see the light,
That turns my darkness into might.
With every breath, I rise anew—
He may not see, but I see you.
Still, I have you. My heart holds fast,
Through every shadow that is cast.
The world may shout, deny what’s true,
But I have grace.
And I have you.
