Edit — Midnight Pilgrim

When the noise dies,
you start to hear the lies you told yourself.
You start to taste the echoes you called wisdom.
That’s when truth walks in —
no spotlight, no applause —
just bare feet on the floorboards of your fear.
Silence don’t lie;
it just waits for you to stop pretending.
I used to talk too loud
just to drown the sound of my own doubt.
Now my peace got a bassline —
low, calm, dangerous.
It don’t need to shout to sound real.
See, truth ain’t loud —
it’s patient.
It don’t knock,
it breaks in.
It don’t argue,
it reveals.
After silence,
there’s that small space where honesty breathes —
where masks fall like autumn leaves
and every line you spit
either saves you or exposes you.
I don’t rap to impress.
I confess in rhythm.
Every bar a bloodline,
every rhyme a resurrection.
The world taught me to rhyme for clout;
pain taught me to rhyme for clarity.
Now every syllable’s a scar that learned how to speak.
So I write like a surgeon —
cutting deep,
no anesthesia,
just truth straight to the vein.
The crowd hears poetry;
I hear therapy.
The beat hears flow;
God hears honesty.
After silence,
there’s truth —
and after truth,
there’s peace so loud
you mistake it for thunder.
So when I’m gone, don’t play my songs.
Play my pauses.
That’s where the sermons hide.
(echo)
When the beat stops, that’s where God starts speaking.

13 Nov 2025
Midnight Pilgrim

0 words · 0 characters

Cancel Defaults to private. Mark quotes with > ⌘S to save • ⌘K to clear