In the Shadow of Uncertainty

Sleep eluded me last night

its tender hands withdrew

as if afraid to touch the tremor in my soul.

The ceiling became a vast confessional,

echoing the silent ache of unspoken dread.

Time, indifferent and cruel,

marched across my mind in ticking footsteps,

each beat a reminder

that stability itself is a fragile guest.

My thoughts, rebellious and unrelenting

assembled their parade of fears.

The specter of loss loomed large,

its voice a cold recitation

of all I might become without this anchor of labor.

Anxiety sat beside me,

a phantom companion tracing its icy fingers

along the frail edges of my composure.

My chest rose and fell like a prayer unspoken,

and yet no peace descended.

Then, from beneath the ruin of unrest,

a subtler voice began to rise

not loud, nor insistent,

but steady, like light beneath closed eyes.

It murmured not of deliverance,

but of assurance, ancient, unwavering:

“All shall be well.”

And in that fragile whisper,

faith stirred within the ashes of fear.

The storm remained,

yet its violence softened

before the calm authority of hope.

Though the morrow is veiled in uncertainty,

I will stand still in its shadow,

clinging not to certainty, but to grace

for even in despair’s hollow chambers,

the Divine composes silence into song,

and the trembling heart learns again

that courage, too, can whisper.