Radiant Verse
A thin blade of Light—
slips into the bruise no prayer can mend—
and still I cup it softly in my hands—
though the ache within me widens—
a hollow that refuses every remedy—
yet longs for tenderness like rain on my lips.
The heart keeps calling out—
but its rooms echo back with famine—
and Silence takes the shape of my companion.
There is a hunger no dawn can quiet—
an emptiness that eats the edges of Joy—
while Hope,
flares small as a lantern unseen in a storm.
Still—we chase the Radiance—
though it burns and never fills—
and we, the trembling witnesses,
write our name in the dark.
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