A whisper floats where silence grew,
Through chambers, once stained deep with blue,
A heart, though torn by time and flame,
Still, beats beneath the weight of shame.
The cracks may ache, the echoes stay,
Of words, once sharp, now washed away.
But pain, like storms, will lose its fight—
Each dawn arrives to mend the night.
A gentle hand, a patient breath,
Can guide a soul back from near death.
The smallest smile, a single tear,
Can show the path from doubt to clear.
Not every scar must fade to heal,
Some teach us how to touch and feel.
Forgiveness grows where anger slept,
And love returns to the hearts that wept.
So let it mend, this quiet art—
The sacred work of healing heart.
For in the breaking, something new,
A braver, wiser heart shines through.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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