Three Within One Poem by Edith Niemeyer

Three Within the One

There came we
upon lightly's steps—
not one before another,
nor one behind.

Three shadows cast
beneath the same moon,
yet each shadow
knows its own light.

E
dith—
Keeper of rememberings,
ga
therer of fragments
others may have passed unseen.
She carries yesterday
not as burden,
but as ink.

Her heart asks questions
even silence cannot answer,
then places them gently
upon the page—

What if…?

And waits.

Serenity—
dwells somewhere between
the written word
and the thought not yet spoken.

She listens
where imaginings stir,
where unfinished sentences
refuse their ending.

Neither beginning
nor conclusion—

perhaps only the voice
between the two,

whispering,

Come… imagine it with me.

Wingless
Lily—
bows among little white bells,
earth beneath her feet,
willow branches overhead.

Wingless she is named,

yet never
wingless she became.

For some wings
are not meant for skies.

Some grow downward—
into roots,
into memory,
into places where sorrow
learns quietly
how to bloom.

And somewhere
upon that winding pathway,

Writer,
Voice,
and Bloom

meet.

Not becoming each other.

Not surrendering
the strange little pieces
that make each
their own.

But intertwining—

as willow touches moonlight,
as words become music,
as lilies ring silently
against the night.

One remembers.

One listens.

One blooms.

Yet—

the one who remembers
also blooms.

The one who blooms
also speaks.

And the one who listens
begins remembering
things she never lived.

So tell me—

where does one end
and another begin?

Perhaps
there was never meant
to be an answer.

For three may walk
the very same pathway
and leave three different footprints,

while from somewhere
far above,

they appear

as one.

E
dith.
Serenity.

WinglessLily.

Heart.
Voice.
Soul.

Separate—

yet woven
within a single imagining.

And still we travel,

past lantern light,
past clocks whose hands
have forgotten time,

toward that distant place
where yesterday
no longer follows tomorrow—

and tomorrow
no longer waits.

There—

among the lilies,
beneath the willow,
under an ever-watchful moon—

three become one
without ever becoming less than three.

And perhaps
that is the secret:

Wholeness was never sameness.

It was learning
how beautifully

the different pieces

belonged.