The Salvation

In shadows deep where silence grew, I walked alone, the path askew. My heart, a lantern faint and worn, Flickered low, by sorrow torn. The storm had raged for countless days, Through bitter winds and ashen haze. Hope, a whisper lost to time, Fell beneath the weight of grime. But then—a spark, a quiet light, Broke through the longest stretch of night. Not loud, not grand, but gently there, A breath, a beam, a whispered prayer. It did not shout, it did not sway, But simply lit another way. Each step I took, a choice to trust, From brokenness to sacred dust. And as the dawn kissed wounded skin, I found the strength to rise within. Not saved by chance, nor fate alone— But by the grace that I’d been shown. Now I walk with lighter soul, The pieces mended, mostly whole. The pain remains, but so does light, A testament to endless night. For even in the darkest place, Salvation wears a quiet face.