Dawn
She came with fire in her veins,
with the certainty of sun—
a blaze no horizon
could keep from breaking.
Dawn.
Not gentle,
not hidden,
but a rising written
into the bones of the world.
Where she steps,
darkness shatters.
Where she breathes,
the air remembers
it was meant to be alive.
She is the promise
that endings are never final,
that even the longest night
must one day kneel
to her light.
I do not claim her.
I only stand witness—
to her becoming,
to her flame,
to the way she carves a path
through shadow
and calls it morning.
Dawn—
a second beginning,
a twin salvation,
a fierce reminder
that what rises
cannot be stopped.
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Poetry Anthologies By Britt Wolfe:
