What lies ahead?

What life is in store for me, I whisper to the dark,
A small flame trembling where questions leave their mark.
Will mornings come that hold the weight of gentle light,
Or will the night persist, unbending, out of sight?

My heart keeps tally of the days I barely breathe,
Counting losses like thin coins no pocket can retrieve.
Do my struggles have an end, or loop like ocean tides,
Wearing cliffs to quiet shapes where hope sometimes hides?

I trace the scars that map the fault lines of my years,
Each one a geography of laughter mixed with tears.
If peace exists, is it a place or fragile state of mind?
A garden I must tend, or something I must find?

Sometimes I dream of silence that does not sting or shout,
A room within my chest where restless storms burn out.
I ask the sky for reasons; wind answers with a sigh—
Maybe endings come in whispers only meant for why.

Still, there’s a stubborn ember that refuses to concede,
A hand that reaches forward when all the lights recede.
Perhaps peace is patient work, not thunderbolt or prize—
A steady footfall learning how to breathe and rise.

So I keep asking softly, letting questions steer the sea,
Trusting tides will teach me what kind of shore I’ll be.