Poem: Mending My Own Light

Mending my own light, a quiet task,
A gentle hand beneath the mask.
Where cracks once lay and shadows fell,
I gather pieces I know so well.

The fire flickers, soft and slow,
A spark of truth begins to glow.
Each shard of fear, each tangle of doubt,
I mend with care, I work them out.

I stitch the dark with threads of gold,
Weaving a warmth that’s fierce and bold.
I tend the flame with tender grace,
Reclaiming strength from every trace.

The storms I’ve weathered, the tears I’ve known,
Are the soil from which my light has grown.
I hold the pieces close and tight,
And slowly heal, mending my light.

Now shines a glow, both deep and bright,
A fire that’s mine, forever alight.
No longer lost, no longer torn,
I rise again, reborn, reborn.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie