Whispers of Dawn

The storm may howl, the rivers rise,Thunder shouts across the skies.Yet even in the tempest wild,Hope still hums, so soft, so mild.

A seed beneath the frozen ground,Buried deep, yet safe and sound.Through winter’s grasp, so fierce and tight,It dreams of sun, it longs for light.

A sailor lost on endless sea,The waves unkind, the winds too free.Yet on the far horizon’s line,A lighthouse stands, its beacon shines.

The artist’s brush, a canvas bare,Hesitates in doubt and care.But one bold stroke, a spark anew,A masterpiece is born from blue.

The mother waits with weary sighs,A soldier’s promise in her eyes.She counts the days, the stars above,And finds her strength in boundless love.

The poet bends with ink-stained hands,Writing dreams in golden strands.Each word a bridge, a step, a stair,To something more, to something fair.

The darkest night must yield to day,The dawn will chase the dusk away.And every heart that’s torn apart,Will mend again, will find restart.

For hope is breath, and hope is fire,A song that soars, a voice, a choir.It waits in you, it waits in me,A promise bright, a destiny.