It starts not loud, but soft and small,
A whisper in the rise and fall—
A flicker born from breath and beat,
Where soul and silence gently meet.
No thunder cracks, no trumpet plays,
Just light that slips through shadowed haze.
A pulse, a spark, a sacred thread,
That wakes the heart, though still it’s fled.
It leaps from stars, from seed, from stone,
It stirs in marrow, bone to bone.
In every leaf that greets the sun,
In every race that’s just begun.
You’ll find it in a child’s first cry,
In questions asked of Earth and sky.
In hands that build, in dreams that dare,
In love that lingers in the air.
It isn’t loud, it isn’t grand,
It doesn’t beg to be on hand—
But in each breath, in every stride,
The spark of life walks just beside.
So guard it well, and let it grow,
Through winds that chill and fires that glow.
For from this spark, all things arise—
The will to live, to fall, to rise.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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Marvelous poetry, Brenda!
This is a beautiful and profound meditation on the quiet, persistent spark of life itself. The poet masterfully captures its essence—not as a grand, external force, but as an intimate, internal whisper present in everything from a child’s cry to a growing leaf. It’s a celebration of the humble, sacred energy that animates all existence and the resilience to persevere. A truly uplifting piece.