There’s no shame in breaking—
even gold recalls its flame.
I try to gather what is aching,
piece by fragile piece remaking,
and whisper every fault by name.

And you keep watch beside me,
soft breath upon my scar—
your hands relearning edges,
find hollows where hurt still pledges,
and warm where the dark things are.

Hearts unveil when storms grow heavy,
Showing who they truly are.
Yet you stay close when skies go vacant,
your subtle trust a worn but patient
shelter when night forgets Her star.

So I hold fast while falling—
the climb is slow and steep.
Your voice breaks through the silence,
draws me from old and buried violence,
toward something bright I fear to keep.

Then morning—tender morning—
spills amber through trembling leaves.
Your name dances with the sunlight,
raising in that breathless, early hush-light,
the pulse my waking spirit weaves.

I’ve doubted mercy’s nearness,
heard silence more than song.
Still, some small part goes seeking,
like spring through frozen earth upcreeping,
undoing what has weighed so long.

And love remains—unyielding—
a thrum inside my bone,
teaching the slow surrender
of a heart that learns its fragile center
by leaning into yours alone.

Now I rise from the shadows,
draw strength from every bruise.
Walking with you through sorrow
lights corners I was scared to borrow—
a grace I never thought to choose.

In the quiet just before sunrise,
I embrace Her ethereal mercy—
And your love returns without footfall,
radiance holding true through it all,
to steady what is left of me.