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Poem

Do we need saving?
We, who walk the tightrope of existence,
Balancing dreams and despair,
With hearts tethered to the weight of the world,
Clutching fragments of hope like fragile glass,
Afraid to let go,
Yet yearning to soar.

The sky, bruised and brooding,
Holds the weight of our unspoken fears,
Clouds swollen with the rain of our longing,
The tempest of our questions.
Is this the end, or a pause,
Before the symphony of dawn?

Each day, we don our armor,
Shields forged from resilience,
Battling the giants of our own making,
The voices that taunt us—
“Not enough, not worthy,
Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts.”

Yet, in the distance,
A light flickers,
A beacon in the fog of uncertainty,
Reminding us,
That help is on the way.

It comes in the form of a hand,
Outstretched, reaching,
A smile that ignites warmth in the cold,
The laughter of kindred spirits,
Offering solace in the storm.
It arrives in shared moments,
The gentle nudge of understanding,
The power of a single word—
"Together."

Help is not a distant dream,
It is the promise of every heartbeat,
The pulse of every soul intertwined,
And in that beautiful chaos,
We learn—
We are the help,
And the help is on the way.

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