A quiet flame that does not boast,
It burns within, a steadfast ghost.
No shout, no spark, no trumpet’s call—
Yet through its will, we rise, not fall.
It wakes before the dawn has stirred,
While dreams still hum, soft and blurred.
It ties the laces, lifts the weight,
And whispers, “Now,” instead of “Wait.”
It walks the path when ease would stray,
It builds tomorrow from today.
Each “no” to comfort, calm, and rest,
Becomes a “yes” to what is best.
For freedom’s gift, though sweet and vast,
Is earned by holding steady, fast.
Not in the fleeting thrill of fire,
But in the grind that lifts us higher.
So praise not luck, nor fleeting chance,
But steady heart and patient stance.
For self-control, the quiet art,
Is how the soul outgrows the heart.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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