A bloom of Crimson Light

I won’t set any fire,
and yet, I burn.
A single thread
woven into stillness.
A quiet defiance
against the weight of nothing.

I don’t scream —
yet there’s a light inside me.
From strands of silence, I weave an image
that asks for no glory.
I resist the emptiness
with beauty I will not bury.

I was here. I felt.
And I made beauty, even while the world was burning.
And now I’m here,
to walk that bridge with you.