Pain is not a fleeting shadow,
nor a thief that steals in the night.
It settles deep, like roots in earth,
clutching marrow, dimming light.
It speaks in whispers, sharp and raw,
etching echoes through the bone,
a language carved in silent cries,
a weight we carry, yet unknown.
Yet, even in its cruel embrace,
where sorrow stains the breaking dawn,
the soul remembers how to rise,
though weary, aching, battle-worn.
For pain is not a sovereign king,
though it may claim the throne awhile,
it bows before the quiet strength,
that lingers in a weary smile.
We learn to hold it, not to break,
to breathe through fire, soft and slow,
to meet its presence, eye to eye,
and teach it when to stay or go.
Through tender hands, through patient steps,
we weave our wounds with threads of grace,
allowing light to find the cracks,
where love and courage interlace.
For pain is but a passing storm,
it bends, it rages, and it sways,
but hearts that learn to bear its weight,
will find their peace in softer days.
So let it teach, but not consume,
let it shape, but not define,
for even pain, when held with love,
becomes a bridge from dark to shine.
Copyright 2025 Savva Emanon ©
The Poets Loft is my new YouTube Channel.
https://www.youtube.com/@PoetsLoft
