To Carry The Dawn

There is something in the quiet—
a hush between heartbeats,
where dreams are whispered in a language
older than words.

It begins with a knowing,
a gentle stirring beneath ribs,
like the first blush of dawn stretching
its fingers across a slumbering sky.

The earth does not rush the seed.
The river does not question the current.
So I, too, become patient—
a vessel for what will be,
a keeper of fragile beginnings.

This is not possession;
it is promise.
A tender covenant
between now and forever,
between breath taken alone
and breath shared with another.

There is weight in this waiting.
Not burden—but blessing,
the soft gravity of becoming
more than just myself.

A guide,
not a sculptor—
for you are already whole.
My hands will shape only the space around you,
making room for your roots
to unfurl,
your branches to rise.

I will walk beside you—
never ahead,
never behind.
I am not the path,
but the light that glows beside it,
flickering steady through the dark.

When you reach for the world,
as you surely will,
know that you were held by gentle hands
that never sought to keep you—
only to lead you
to the horizon that is yours alone.

And when the dawn breaks,
as it must,
I will watch with wonder
as you step into its glow.

You—
a new breath of the universe,
rising with the sun,
carried by the quiet promise
that you were always meant to find
your own way home.