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Personal Note:

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Poem

In a world where whispers strike like stones,
Where unseen eyes cast chilling tones,
Where silent shadows weave their thread,
The Lord walks close beside my tread.

When hearts grow cold and hands withhold,
And greed’s sharp edge is bright and bold,
A hidden grace begins to rise,
A light unseen beneath dark skies.

Rivers of words like secrets flow,
Ominous winds begin to blow,
Where will you flee when dusk draws near,
When shadows speak but none hear clear?

In forests thick with thorn and snare,
Where whispered winds breed doubt and care,
The shadows hunt in silent packs,
They pull the roots and break the tracks.

When insecurity spreads its vine,
It coils and strangles, slow, malign,
Their grasp is poison, cold and sly,
To make your light fade, dim, and die.

They are the mirrors cracked and worn,
Reflections twisted, cold, and torn,
Feeding on the fractures they create,
Hungry shadows fueled by hate.

Their voices sound the storm’s harsh cry,
Blinding stars that cloud the sky,
They seek to forge you in their flame,
A clay to mold but not your name.


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Author’s Note:

This poem delves into the quiet struggle of navigating unseen forces—whispers, doubts, and shadows—that aim to diminish one’s light and identity. Set against a backdrop of spiritual presence and inner grace, it reflects on the resilience required to remain true to oneself. The piece serves as a metaphor for preserving one’s authentic spirit in a world often ruled by coldness, greed, and fear.

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