The Light That Never Fades

I. Dawn’s First Whisper

The morning stirs in hues of gold,

A tender blush, a story told.

The sun, a painter, soft and wise,

Unfurls its light across the skies.

The trees, like elders, hum and sigh,

Their branches reached high and scraped.

They’ve seen the world in joy and pain,
Yet stand in hope, time and again.

A sparrow dips, then soars in flight—
A fleeting brushstroke, bold and bright.

The earth exhales in mist and dew,
I also think of you in this silence.

II. The Language of the Leaves

The wind composes melodies
On bark and leaf and trembling bees.
It sings of journeys, lost and found,
Of whispered love, of sacred ground.

The river, laughing, joins the tune,
Reflecting stars and crescent moon.
It carries tales from distant shores,
Of broken ships and mended doors.

Oh, if the world could speak aloud,
What wisdom would it share with crowds?
Perhaps it’s best it stays this way—
A silent guide that lights the way.

III. The Dance of Fireflies

When evening drapes her velvet gown,
And daylight’s embers flicker down,
The fireflies begin their play—
A thousand lanterns lighting way.

They weave through time, through dreams, through air,
A fleeting dance, a love affair.
Each tiny glow, a spark, a prayer,
A proof that magic’s always there.

I once reached out to hold one tight,
But learned some things won’t shine in spite.
So now I watch, in awe, in grace,
And let them glow in their own space.

IV. The Book of Forgotten Things

There is a shelf inside my heart
Where dusty memories won’t depart.
A ticket stub, a faded note,
A half-remembered lullaby float.

The scent of rain on summer streets,
The taste of snowflakes, bittersweet.
Your laughter in an empty room,
A light that lingers through the gloom.

Some say to let the old things fade,
But I keep every mark they’ve made.
For in these fragments, soft and worn,
Lies every sunrise I’ve ever known.

V. The Hands That Hold the World

I’ve seen a mother rock her child,
Her voice a balm, her touch so mild.
I’ve watched a stranger help another,
No names exchanged—just sister, brother.

I’ve seen the elderly sit still,
Their hands a map of time and will.
And in their eyes, a quiet fire,
A spark no years could e’er retire.

The world is heavy, sharp, and loud,
Yet kindness wraps it like a shroud.
A thread of gold through every tear,
A love that conquers every fear.

VI. The Symphony of Small Things

A cup of tea, a purring cat,
A well-worn path, a cozy hat.
The way the rain taps on the pane,
A friend who knows your joy and pain.

The smell of bread, the crackling hearth,
The quiet hush of snowfall’s birth.
The way the stars, though far apart,
Still stitch their light into your heart.

These are the things that softly stay,
That guide us when we lose our way.
The universe in grains of sand,
The world held in a single hand.

VII. The Light That Never Fades

So when the nights grow long and cold,
And doubt creeps in, and hearts feel old,
Remember this—the light remains,
In love, in hope, in life’s refrains.

For every shadow ever cast
Is proof that light was there and passed.
And though we ache, and though we bend,
The dawn will always rise again.

Final Stanza (A Benediction):
May you find warmth in fleeting things,
The joy a single moment brings.
May you be brave, may you be true,
And may your light shine boldly through.

Did this poem touch your heart?
Let me know which stanza resonated most with you. 💛