In silence where the shadows lay,
A trembling heart begins to pray.
Not for answers, not for why—
But just to breathe, and just to cry.
A single ray through curtain’s thread,
Falls gently where the pain has bled.
And though the ache still softly clings,
The healing stirs… the healing sings.
It doesn’t shout or claim the sky,
It tiptoes in with lullaby.
In whispered winds, in breaking dawn,
In knowing that you’re not alone.
It comes with tears, it comes with grace,
A slow return to your own face.
Each scar a map, each bruise a guide—
To strength you never knew inside.
So rest, dear soul, and trust the light,
It doesn’t all get fixed tonight.
But seed by seed and breath by breath,
You bloom again from grief and death.
For healing isn’t fast or clean—
It’s raw, it’s real, it’s in-between.
But here you are, beneath your skin:
Alive. Awake.
The healing begins.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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