Wings of Tomorrow

I rise, not from the ashes, But from the soil, where roots of doubt held me bound, A quiet rebellion against the weight of days, I lift my chin to the sky, where every cloud speaks of possibility, And every breath pulls me from the night. In the depths of darkness, I found my strength, Not in battles fought, but in silent endurance, Where each scar is a line etched with hope, A map leading me to the edge of my own limits, To the place where I break, only to rebuild. I am the quiet storm, gentle yet relentless, The calm after the chaos, the whisper after the scream, For I have learned that light isn’t found—it’s created, Shaped in the shadows of what we fear, And ignited by the belief that tomorrow holds more. I am human, flawed and infinite, Woven from moments of falling and rising, From tears that watered the seeds of resilience, From laughter that echoed through the empty halls of doubt, I soar not because I’ve won, But because I’ve learned to trust the wind beneath my wings. In every ending, I find a new beginning, No darkness, only the canvas of stars yet unseen. And here I stand— On the edge, breath held, Waiting… for the fall or the flight.