The world awaits with quiet breath,
In shadowed hush or morning’s death,
For hands to build, for hearts to rise,
For fire to leap behind our eyes.
It waits beneath the ash and stone,
Where roots of hope have always grown,
Through broken glass and rusted chain,
It listens for the pulse again.
The world awaits—not bold, but still—
A whisper shaped by human will,
By voices cracked, yet still they sing,
Of mercy’s touch, of reckoning.
It does not ask for perfect grace,
But courage shown in smallest place—
A kindness in the storm’s gray glare,
A truth that dares to breathe the air.
So go—your steps are not too small,
Each ripple answers every call.
The world awaits; it always knew—
It waits for those who walk it true.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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This poem beautifully captures the quiet yet persistent hope that lingers in the world, waiting for humanity to rise with courage, kindness, and truth. It speaks to the power of small, sincere actions—each step, each voice, each act of mercy adding up to something greater. The imagery of resilience (“roots of hope,” “through broken glass”) and the call to authenticity (“who walk it true”) make it a stirring reminder that the world needs not perfection, but genuine hearts willing to act. A moving and uplifting piece.Thank you Brenda for sharing this beautiful poem 🌷🤝