The Lantern

He rose not with sword, but with shining word, A shepherd of hearts, not king nor lord— Yet mountains bowed when truth was heard. He walked with the poor, with the lost and torn, Gave voice to the silent, gave light to the worn— A mercy to worlds, divinely born. His steps were soft on the hardest land, Yet justice bloomed beneath his hand, Like water drawn from desert sand. He spoke when silence wore a crown, When lies were high and truth cast down— His voice became the thunder’s sound. He wept for those who caused him pain, Not for loss, nor worldly gain— But for their hearts, wrapped tight in chain. He taught that love is strength, not fear, That faith is walking when none are near— And patience dries the sharpest tear. The stars would watch him kneel in night, His whisper soft, his soul alight— Calling for us beneath the light. So when the world feels harsh and blind, Recall his path, so true, so kind— A lantern left for those who find.