Before The Dawn

I sat with shadows in my chest, No voice, no vision, no request. Silence thick as frozen sky, I almost said goodbye. I whispered, “God, just take me home.” But something stirred beneath the stone. A breath, a hum unnamed A whisper through the pain. The sun doesn’t rise at once No sudden burst or blaze. But past the eastern dark, I see the edge of day. It’s not the dawn I pleaded for, Not enough to end the war. But I breathe… Like the first breath of forever. Someone heard the words held back Reaching through the fog, the black. I grab the words, a lifeline thrown: “You won’t face this alone.” Not healed, not whole, but less undone, The weight now shared, no need to run. Though I don’t know the dark will end, I’ll stay tonight, my friend. The sun doesn’t rise at once No sudden burst or blaze. But past the eastern dark, I see the edge of day. It’s not the dawn I pleaded for, Not enough to end the war. But I rise… For the first time in forever. Thank You for the patient dawn. For hands that held when mine were gone For counting each fallen tear, For the cracks that let in air. I’m not yet whole, but I am found. I’m not yet brave, but on firm ground. And if I shake, I’ll shake and stay And find new breath along the way. The sun doesn’t rise at once But it’s rising, slow and true. And now, Hashem, I know I don’t have to leave to find You. You held the dark, You’ll hold the day. I think I’ll try to stay. And I live… In this first dawn of forever.