Sometimes the sky will not turn gold,
no hidden grace, no truth to hold.
The jagged edge, the heavy rain,
acceptance carved from quiet pain.

No lesson waits, no light to chase,
just shadows pressing into place.
Regret may cling, and sorrow stay,
yet still you breathe, though night is gray.

You miss the ones you cannot keep,
their echoes haunt, their voices seep.
And still the silence bids you rest,
to sit with grief, to be confessed.

Not every wound is meant to mend,
not every storm will find its end.
But in the stillness, raw, unplanned,
you learn to live with what you can.
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