Poem: It Always Works Out

It always works out,
not because the road is kind,
but because your feet keep moving
even when the map dissolves.

The dark is never empty—
it’s full of patience,
full of small hinges turning
where you thought there were walls.

What breaks makes room.
What leaves makes silence honest.
What hurts teaches your hands
how to hold what comes next.

You don’t see the ending
because you’re inside the becoming.
Seeds never look like forests
while they’re learning the dirt.

So breathe.
The thread is still in your hands.
Time is stitching quietly,
and somehow—steadily—
it always works out.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie