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When fear coils tight around the throat of thought,

and news becomes a blade against the chest,

I step back—

not in denial,

but in defiance

of despair.

I turn to the unseen light,

the hush of a faithful heart

beating far from power,

but close to mercy.

Somewhere,

a mother lights a candle in her kitchen

without knowing she’s praying.

A child sings to the moon

and teaches angels to listen again.

The world is burning, yes—

but not entirely.

There are still soft-bellied truths,

still thinkers who choose peace

without applause.

There is still God.

Not the one paraded by tyrants,

but the silent breath in olive groves,

the tear wiped quietly

by someone who chooses kindness

over rage.

Faith is not blindness.

It is vision that sees

beyond the smoke.

We may not stop the madness,

but perhaps—

if enough hearts remain soft,

if enough voices hum hope beneath the noise—

And if the world forgets

how to be gentle,

let our broken faith remain,

a soft ember in the ash.