Ashes and Ascent

When shadows fall and silence grows,

And hope feels distant, faint, and slow,

When dreams are buried deep in dust,

And every step betrays your trust—

Remember this: beneath the pain,

A seed still sleeps in cold, hard rain.

There comes a time when all seems lost,

The soul weighed down by every cost,

The world a storm that will not cease,

No lullaby, no rest, no peace.

But even stars need dark to shine—

The blackest nights birth light divine.

I’ve walked through fire with blistered feet,

Felt failure’s kiss and bitter heat,

Stared down the void with hollow eyes,

Heard love go still, and laughter die.

But I am more than scars and flame—

I wear my ashes like a name.

For every time I broke apart,

A newer flame grew in my heart.

Not made of ease, or joy, or grace—

But grit and will that time can’t chase.

The kind of fire the wind can’t drown,

A crown built not from gold, but ground.

Each morning I arise again,

With battle-cries carved in my skin.

I am the echo of “not yet,”

The quiet soul who won’t forget

That pain may shape and time may scar,

But even wreckage hides a star.

There’s power in the shattered glass,

In dreams that bleed, and loves that pass.

There’s beauty in the bruised and bent,

In every breath that won’t relent.

You are not weak for all you feel—

The cracks you hide reveal your steel.

So when the night creeps in too near,

And drowns your voice with doubt and fear,

Light one small match—your will to try—

And let it rise to kiss the sky.

It only takes one spark, one beat,

To lift you back upon your feet.

Let memories of battles won

Remind you where your strength begun.

Let every tear that touched your cheek

Be testament: you are not weak.

You are the storm, the flame, the tide—

The warrior soul who won’t subside.

No mountain stands that won’t erode,

But step by step, you climb the road.

And though the air is thin and cruel,

Your heart remains your fiercest tool.

You’ve made it here—so make it known:

No pain can break what’s fully grown.

So rise again, and then once more,

Though every limb feels stiff and sore.

For even if you crawl, you move—

And movement is a kind of proof.

The sun returns. The frost will flee.

Your story isn’t done. Just be.

Be brave, be bold, be still, be true.

The world is wide, it waits for you.

And when you fall (because we do),

Stand up and say: “I’m coming through.”

Because in ashes life still stirs—

And wings are made from what was burned.