Hear My Hope
There is a voice beneath the wreckage
a pulse that refuses to fade.
It hums through the cracks in the silence
where belief hides its face.
Inside the mind the weather shifts without warning
thoughts gather like storms
and the world can shrink to a single room
a single breath
a single moment that feels too heavy to hold.
Some days the noise is sharp
fast
merciless
and a soul tries to stay upright
while doubt circles like a shadow that knows every weak place.
Other days the quiet is worse
a slow sinking
a numbness that steals colour from everything
until even hope feels far away.
But beneath all of that weight
something still moves.
A small steady spark
a stubborn thread of strength
a quiet refusal to disappear.
It rises in the smallest moments
in the return of steady breathing
in the choice to stay
in the truth that survival is not softness
but a kind of courage that rarely gets seen
yet changes everything.
So hear this hope
not as prayer
but as proof.
Even in the ash
something still sings the truth.
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