I awoke once more.
I awoke to a world where dawn brought no promise, and twilight offered no reprieve—a realm so ensnared in its unyielding grasp that it took more than it gave. There’s a starkness in its reality, an unforgiving truth that the scales tip more towards taking than they do giving.
It’s a world where the pavement is stained with the dreams of the hopeful; where the winds whisper tales of broken spirits instead of carrying songs of freedom. Each day, it seems, this world revels in the currency of pain, trading heartaches in place of embraces, collecting tears when it should be sowing laughter.
Callous men, wicked women ascend to high places , their hearts encased in walls of steel. Malice and greed flow through their veins, and they relish in the suffering of others.
For every step forward, the ground crumbles beneath weathered feet, eager to swallow any semblance of progress. It is a place that hurts more than it heals, leaving a mosaic of scars that tell stories no one wished to live. Compassion struggles to take root in soil that’s been salted by the bitter residue of relentless trials.
Love—such a tender and precious commodity is rationed like water in a drought, and hate blooms like a noxious weed in the human garden. It spreads, it chokes, it dominates until we forget that once we planted roses here and marveled at their beauty.
Today, I’m witness to the truth that kindness is a currency rapidly devaluing, while malice gains momentum, creating a stock market crash of humanity’s inherent worth. It’s a heartbreaking revelation, a testament to the brokenness of the human condition.
Yet, here I stand amidst the rubble of compassion, a voice in the cacophony of cries, daring to whisper a rebellion. For even in the heartless embrace of this cruel world, I cling to the audacity of hope—a belief that even the most withered heart can be nurtured back to life, that even in a relentless cascade of despair, the spirit of love can still muster the strength to extend its hands in tenderness once more.
I am awake now, and while the starkness of reality bites with the cold of a thousand winters, I wrap myself in the shards of a shattered dream, believing still, that warmth can be woven from the fringes of brokenness.
