Beakon of Hope

In the darkest hour, a star will rise,
A flicker of light in endless skies.
When shadows press and silence grows,
Hope is the seed the heart still knows.

Through the storm, when all seems lost,
When every breath has paid its cost,
A murmur stirs, a quiet call,
Hope’s the hand that catches the fall.

In winter’s grip, when life stands still,
And frost lays claim to vale and hill,
Beneath the ice, the earth holds tight,
Hope in waiting, hidden from sight.

One fragile bud on a withered branch,
A promise swells beneath the chance.
In fields gone dry, in souls run deep,
Hope is the vow we always keep.

Each morning breaks, a sky reborn,
The light that cracks the weight of mourn.
In every heart, the ember stays,
Hope won’t falter, come what may.

When dreams slip through these fragile hands,
And time runs like unwinding strands,
Still, a spark ignites the flame,
Hope endures, without a name.

So hold it close, this tender fire,
A quiet truth, your own desire.
For in the stillness of the night,
Hope remains, forever bright.