The ghosts of fear took siege over the world.
Broken children crying tears of loss,
And there in the mangled mess...
A bleeding good man looked up,
Sobbing once he felt her hand hold onto his face.
As she walked forward to the women in pain,
And those who had no labels that could name them,
The cores of their souls lit up the horizon.
She held onto their faces too,
With faith in her heart that they will overcome.
Something in her spoke to those in sorrow and in pain.
She was like the morning light that came
For those who were plunged into darkness.
And she wasn't immortal or a spiritual leader.
For she had times when she would curl up in a ball
And struggled with a broken heart.
She was as imperfect as they were.
Holding onto visions of courage in the face of pain,
She saw herself as a flame rekindling the light
In others who have forgotten their own brilliance.
Was she a tool or was she a leader?
She only wanted to become a reminder.
A reminder that made everyone remember
That they each had an eternal flame within their core.
For everyone was the Moon lighting up the cold and lonely night,
And everyone was the first warm light
That streamed across the lands kept in the dark.
The dark was not the evil,
And night wasn't necessarily Death.
The light was not always fair,
And justice wasn't always served.
But while the Sun still shines,
The good warmth will heal all broken hearts.