This is Just the Beginning

The dust settles, a temporary shroud, over broken pieces, whispered, not aloud. A silence hangs, a moment held in sway, before the rising of a brand new day. A stillness swings, thick and heavy, a held breath, not the end's still but a pause before death, or birth, perhaps, a struggle to arise, from ashes scattered beneath wounded skies. They think it's over, the storm has run its course, a final chapter with diminished force. They measure ruins and they count the cost, believing futures, forevermore are lost. But in the rubble, a flicker, small and bright, a stubborn ember refusing fading night. A seed of change in cracked and barren ground, where resilience whispers a defiant sound. The hands that tremble begin to gather stone, to build anew on what they've always known. The voices rise, a chorus, raw and deep, from slumber shaken, secrets they will keep. This isn't ending, no, it's a turning tide, a dormant power that cannot be denied. The cracks are widening, letting in the light, a dawn approaching, banishing the night. This is the spark igniting what's to be, a restless spirit breaking to be free. This is the moment where futures intertwine, and "just the beginning" etches every line. ©bfa032725