Mild apprehensions can stretch out across the mind, taking on monstrous, intimidating dimensions when hope and clarity are at their lowest ebb.
Shadows grow longest when the light is lowest, Stretching across the quiet, cold floor, A tiny doubt, in the dimming twilight, Casts a giant’s shape against the door. When darkness thickens and hope grows slender, The small fears loom like mountains steep, Exaggerated in the subtle fading, Guardians over the thoughts we keep. Yet the shadow relies on the trace of brightness, A lingering truth the heart still knows: The height of the dark is an illusion of angle, Not the strength of the threat that grows.
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