I used to think that kindness sung
would echo back from every tongue,
that gentle hands would be repaid,
that loyalty could never fade.

But life revealed a harsher truth:
not all return the grace of youth.
Some walk away, some silence speaks,
their distance louder than their creeds.

So now I guard the flame I keep,
protect my soul, though shadows seep.
It is not cold to turn aside,
but wisdom clothed in quiet pride.

For beauty lies in strength concealed,
in scars that teach, in wounds that healed.
No echo needed, none required—
my light endures, though theirs expired.