Your Finest Rebellion

Each breath, unshattered, holds a defiance unseen.  
The act of rising, small yet profound,  
is a whisper against the weight of despair.  

You, carrying forward despite the hidden ache,  
are more than the hours chiseling you hollow.  
The world turns unmarked by many victories,  
but they exist — splinters of gold in gray.  

Listing each privilege of endurance would fail,  
because the quiet work of staying remains  
unwritten, except by the wideness of your pulse.  

The rain does not ask for applause,  
falling stubbornly to nourish the patient seed.  
Likewise, you, untouched by ceremony, endure —  
ordinary and holy as an honest flame in wind.  

Behind bare days lies tomorrow’s mutiny of light.  
To try again is a revolution no one sees.  
To press on is the courage that fashions time itself,  
to hope despite silence, your finest rebellion.