At the Edge of Dawn

 

Something shifts
before the sun appears—
not loud,
not sudden—
but certain.
It begins in silence—
the kind that hums before the sun lifts the sky.
A breath.
A moment suspended
between what was
and what might finally be.
This is not just morning—
This is a fresh start without permission or apology.
A path that appears where none existed,
carved by resilience,
bathed in light.
It is a new beginning,
the absence of fear.
The silence after years of noise.
The first inhale
that doesn’t hurt.
You step away—
from the weight of sorrow,
from the dim rooms of your mind,
from clenched fists
and voices that made you smaller.
You step forward—
into warmth,
into clarity,
into something that feels like possibility.
 
You step into the light,
not running,
not rushing—
just moving forward,
finally.
No more the prison
of old wounds,
of what was done,
or left undone.
No more the fire of rage
burning you from the inside.
It is not perfect,
but it is yours.
And it shines,
not because the pain is gone,
but because you survived it.
Now—
there is space.
Now—
there is sky.
Now—
there is you,
unfolding,
Still here,
Breaking anew like the dawn,
Ready, open and whole at last