Cronic Pain

It wakes before I open eyes,
a shadow cast beneath the skies,
no storm or wound, no bleeding sign—
just silent ache, a creeping vine.

It coils around my every limb,
it dulls the day, it makes light dim.
A whisper first, then louder still,
a voice that bends and breaks my will.

I walk the world like all is well,
while trapped inside a private hell.
No cast to sign, no proof to show,
just weary smiles that come and go.

They say “you look just fine today,”
but pain, it never goes away.
It sits with me through work and rest,
a ghost that lingers in my chest.

I’ve made it part of who I am,
a silent passenger I damn—
yet honor too, for all it’s taught:
the quiet strength that can’t be bought.

So if you see me standing tall,
don’t think I’ve never feared the fall.
This is my fight, my endless rain—
the heavy crown of chronic pain.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie