Of Trials Born and Dawns Awaited

Life presses hard against all of us.

Not by cruelty, but by design.
The forge does not apologize for the fire.
The storm does not bargain with the ship.

There are seasons when the light feels close enough to catch,
When the path seems sure,
And then the ground shifts underfoot,
Quietly, without warning.

The mind knows the promises of tomorrow.
The heart feels the weight of today.

I walk with both, steady though the winds lean heavy against me,
Eyes set on a horizon I am told is there,
Even when the mist hides it from view.

The soul recalls the old wisdom,
That to everything there is a season,
And that endurance, once born, leaves its mark quietly and forever.

Still, the waiting is its own kind of test.
Still, the climb demands more than strength.

Yet forward we go,
We who are dust and breath,
Carrying hope like a flame cupped in trembling hands,
Believing that even if the night lingers,
Morning will not forget to come.