The evening hums soft, a hollow breath of stars,

a quiet rhythm laced with slowing thoughts.

The weight of wakefulness begins to fade,

as sleep steps in, a gentle-handed guide.

The world is still, but melodies remain—

a symphony of strings and whispered brass,

each note a brushstroke on the canvas black,

where echoes shape the dreams I have not sought.

The music speaks in ways no words could reach,

it bends the air, it folds into my soul.

A chord, a swell, the rise of something deep,

a sound that pulls my spirit into light.

There in the hush between the notes, it stirs—

a presence felt but never seen or named,

a weightless thread that weaves through all I know,

both tethering and setting me to flight.

And in that space—half waking, half in dreams—

I feel the shift, the pulse of something new.

A voice that sings of who I’m meant to be,

a spark, a fire waiting to ignite.

I will not walk this world with idle hands,

nor let the weight of silence pull me down.

The world will change because I walk within it,

because I choose to lift, to build, to heal.

For every life that falters in the dark,

I’ll be a lantern, steady in the wind.

For every voice unheard, I’ll raise my own,

until the song of hope is heard again.