Before The First Frost

Before the first frost,

I still believed,

that faith was warmth you could perceive.

That God was sun,

not hidden sky.

I believed love was light that wouldn’t die.

But peace I’ve learned,

is rarely loud.

Peace comes through cracks we’re not allowed.

It hums beneath the weight we bear,

a whisper stitched inside despair.

The soul does not begin in bloom,

it starts in winter’s patient womb.

Where silence teaches how to stay,

and loss becomes the only way.

This book is not a hymn of praise,

it’s the echo that my faith still plays.

It’s frost and fire, rain and seed,

the ache, the ash, the root, the creed.

Each poem was a reaching hand,

a hope at times,

I didn’t understand.

And maybe that’s what grace became,

the act of calling out His name

The poems spoke for me when I could barely speak at all,

and it was a key to hearing Him inside the fall.

This is my way of answering His call,

of using His light to help others stand tall.