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.