Poem: Life

Life is not a straight-lit road,
but a winding path of dust and stone,
where some days bloom in quiet gold
and others leave you walking alone.

You will stumble—yes, you will—
on words unsaid, on chances missed,
on fragile dreams that time may spill
like water slipping through your fist.

But still, the morning finds your face,
even after longest nights;
the sun does not forget its place,
nor you your hidden, steady light.

There is a strength in carrying on
when meaning feels unclear or thin,
in tying hope to each new dawn
and letting small beginnings win.

So breathe when days feel sharp and long,
rest when the weight is hard to bear;
getting through is its own song—
a quiet proof that you are there.

Thank-you for reading,

Brenda Marie