sometimes
the writer
puts wisdom
upon the page,
words of peace,
of surrender,
of letting go.
until life
comes knocking
and the heart
that spoke of peace
begins to tremble.
the hands
that wrote of surrender
hold tighter.
yet how strange
to offer the world
a truth
we are still
learning to receive.
i have known
the forest,
the darkness
that swallows
every familiar path,
the silence
where love
should have been.
i searched
for a hand,
a voice,
a light
to lead me home.
but no one came.
so i became
the hand
i wished
had found me.
and still,
there are nights
when i cannot
find my own way.
perhaps
that is the gap
between knowing
and becoming.
we need not
escape the darkness
to become
the hand
that reaches
through it.
© 2026 Corvalya