I march through fields of endless night,
Each step a war, each breath a fight.
The weight of doubt, the chains of pain,
Yet still I rise, I stand again.
The voices whisper, sharp and low,
They tell me things I shouldn’t know.
That I am weak, that I will break,
That hope is just a cruel mistake.
But in my chest, a fire stays,
A flicker small, but set ablaze.
I clench my fists, I lift my chin,
This war is one I have to win.
The wounds run deep, the scars remain,
Yet I push forward through the rain.
For though the dark may call my name,
I am the storm—it fears my flame.
by-averielee3
