Second Wind
Another sunrise.
Another chance
to get it right.
And I will.
Because the fire’s back –
quiet,
controlled,
mine.
Another sunrise.
Another chance
to get it right.
And I will.
Because the fire’s back –
quiet,
controlled,
mine.
Moving on is not forgetting –
it’s letting the ashes settle,
letting the wind carry what remains,
while we walk forward,
hands empty, but hearts open
for the fires yet to come.
Time and again,
we push through the dark,
through the endless turning of days,
never surrendering,
never undone.
My eyes, open to light,
to the glisten of dew on blades of grass,
to the dance of shadows across the ground,
as if the earth itself breathes,
stretching, stirring,
and I am part of its waking,
alive in every quiet miracle,
every whisper of the world.
Hair rose at the back of my neck as I wrote,
as if time itself
ran its fingers along my spine,
reminding me of what I could not outrun.
The ticking, louder now,
echoed in the quiet,
each beat a hammer,
each second a pulse I couldn’t ignore.
We only ever move forward, step by step,
leaving behind what was –
not in regret, but with a gentle nod,
as the sun tips over the edge of the world,
stretching shadows that grow long, then fade.