Darkness Cannot Hold the Light Back

Poetry and Prose by Britt Wolfe

The night believes itself eternal.
It gathers armies of silence,
wraps the sky in its black doctrine,
spreads fear like scripture,
and names itself inevitable.

But darkness has always mistaken endurance for power.
It forgets that the horizon is a covenant,
that every shadow owes its shape to light.
Even at the hour when the world feels strangled,
the unseen blaze is already stirring—
a revolution burning beneath the rim of the earth.

The sun does not debate with night.
It does not bargain with cruelty,
or bow to tyranny draped in false righteousness.
It rises.
It floods the hollowed places.
It writes its truth across oceans and rooftops
with a certainty beyond argument.

And in that rising, goodness takes its shape.
Kindness becomes armour.
Mercy, a blade sharp enough to cut through lies.
Compassion does not falter—it conquers,
not with thunder, but with constancy,
not with domination, but with endurance.

Every dawn is proof:
the darkness can shout,
can swell, can cling with desperate hands,
but it cannot hold the light back.
Not forever.
Not even for long.

Because the work of light is endless.
It returns.
It insists.
It belongs to those who refuse the silence,
to those who keep watch in the longest night,
to those who believe—
even when belief feels like madness—
that justice is not a dream
but a promise waiting to break open the sky.

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