Shadow and Fire
I crawled through years where night fell fast,
where dawn was a rumor, faint and far.
Each day was a climb up a crumbling wall,
every step swallowed in shadows,
and the weight of the world bore down, pressed hard—
its whispers sharp, relentless.
Hope would come, a flicker, then fade,
a candle swallowed by each unkind wind.
I’d chase it like breath, feeling it slip,
a fleeting warmth in my cold, clenched hands.
And yet, I’d rise, even if just to crawl—
I’d stand up from the bed like a warrior,
and stitch myself together, bit by bit.
It took all I had, and then even more,
to push against that endless gray.
To tell myself that this wasn’t the end,
even when every cell in my body felt like quitting,
when failure felt final, when sorrow seemed true.
I built my strength from the rubble of doubt,
even when courage tasted like salted ash.
And now, here in the glow of a long-fought dawn,
light unfolds over broken ground,
warmth wraps around scarred, pink tender skin.
Hope stays longer now; it sits beside me,
no longer a stranger, no longer a thief.
The dark still whispers, a shadow at my back,
but I face forward, finding the light.
For here, in the dawn that took so long to break,
I learn what it means to live in color—
to trust in joy, despite the night.
I’ve forged my peace from each fractured hope,
from every time I refused to give in.
And now, as light fills this once-empty heart,
I carry both shadow and fire.
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