Steps Before the Dawn

In the hush of night, when the world is still,

I take my steps, unmeasured, uncounted,

Across the narrow bridge between shadows and light,

Where silence breathes deeper than words,

And the air tastes of waiting.

Each footfall is soft, like whispers on earth,

Yet heavy with the weight of longing,

For I know the dawn is not here yet—

Only the cold embrace of stars,

Only the lonely echo of my resolve.

The moon lingers, pale and distant,

A sentinel for my wandering heart.

I walk as though bound to something unseen,

A future not yet born,

A promise veiled in the mists of time.

These are the steps before the dawn,

Where courage is not loud, but quiet,

Where preparation is stitched with solitude,

And hope is no more than a fragile ember,

Carried gently against the winds of doubt.

I pause by the river of memory,

Where reflections of yesterday ripple back at me,

Faces, voices, moments—

All blurred, yet familiar,

Reminders of the roads I left behind.

Loneliness does not scream here,

It sits beside me, patient and calm,

A companion I no longer fear,

For even in silence,

I find the shape of my own soul.

Step after step, I trace the path,

A pilgrimage of the unseen heart.

The night wraps me in its velvet cloak,

Stars like lanterns guide me forward,

While uncertainty hums like a secret refrain.

I think of dawn not as a moment,

But as a covenant—

A vow between light and dark,

Between the weary traveler and the horizon,

Between all I was, and all I am becoming.

My breath clouds in the cool air,

Each exhale carrying fragments of fear.

Yet with every inhale, I gather strength,

The strength of quiet preparation,

The strength of believing in beginnings.

The road beneath me stretches on,

Not marked by signs, nor guided by maps,

Only by the rhythm of my steps,

Steady, unyielding, deliberate,

As though the earth itself remembers me.

I imagine the dawn as a doorway,

Golden hinges, soft light pouring through,

And me, standing at the threshold,

Carrying the bruises of night,

But ready, unbroken, unafraid.

For every shadow teaches resilience,

Every silence teaches me to listen,

Every pause reminds me that stillness, too, is progress,

And every unseen hour before the morning

Holds the seed of something sacred.

These steps are not wasted.

They carve new strength into my bones,

They write stories into my silence,

They prepare me for a dawn

That will not be denied.

I whisper to the stars above:

“Wait with me, just a little longer.

Keep me company as I walk.

Do not let the night consume me

Before the light arrives.”

And they answer in glimmers,

In silver sparks scattered across infinity,

Reminding me that even in vast darkness,

I am not alone—

I am part of something endless.

My heart beats like a drum of persistence,

Its rhythm syncing with my steps.

Every throb, a vow; every step, a prayer—

That when the first rays crown the earth,

I will be ready to stand tall.

These are the steps before the dawn:

Not grand, not triumphant,

But steady, faithful, and true.

For sometimes the greatest victories

Are born not in noise, but in silence.

And when at last the horizon cracks,

Spilling light like gold across the earth,

I will lift my head and know:

It was the quiet, patient steps in darkness

That taught me how to rise.