Poem: The Quiet Mend

Not all scars whisper through the skin,
Some stay deep where light grows thin.
They bloom in silence, ache alone,
In hollow places, overgrown.

The world may pass with hurried feet,
Unhearing hearts, eyes indiscreet.
But pain, though hidden, does not fade—
It lingers in the soul’s cascade.

Yet healing comes in gentler ways,
Through patient nights and softer days.
A breath, a word, a hand held tight,
A sliver of returning light.

Not every wound will speak aloud,
Some wear silence like a shroud.
But even in the quiet ache,
The heart remembers how to wake.

So let your soul, though bruised and bare,
Know this truth: you’re held with care.
And piece by piece, the dark will part—
The mending always finds the heart.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie