There’s a quiet flame
that flickers in my chest,
not born of breath or bone,
but of something ancient—
a pulse that never fades,
even when the world grows dark.
It’s the light within,
soft but steady,
guiding me through shadows
when my feet lose their way.
I close my eyes,
and feel its warmth—
a reminder that I am more
than the body I wear,
more than the thoughts that cloud,
more than the fear that lingers.
This flame is my compass,
my prayer without words,
a bridge to the infinite,
whispering:
You are enough.
You are whole.
You are home.