The Weight of Light

In the quiet hour before the dawn,

When dreams still whisper, almost gone,

A spark remains — a trembling flame,

That dares to rise, without a name.

The world is heavy with unseen cries,

And truth hides deep in sleepless eyes.

Yet still, the heart keeps beating slow,

Through storms of doubt, through undertow.

Each soul’s a lantern, faint yet bright,

Lost in the corridors of night.

And though the dark may press so near,

Its silence sings — you’re still here.

For light is born where pain has bled,

Where courage walks though hope seems dead.

So let your scars be songs that heal,

For broken things still learn to feel.

The weight of light is soft, not small —

It shines because it faced the fall.

And when your shadow starts to bend,

That’s just the start, not yet the end.