When the World Feels Heavy
Some days arrive like weathered stone,
too full of gray to call my own.
My heart grows tired, my breath runs thin,
and even morning feels worn within.
I carry hours like a weight,
each small hurt made to feel too great.
Still, somewhere under all this ache,
a faint small line begins to wake.
Not joy, not light, not something grand—
just one warm moment, one held hand,
one reason, fragile, soft, and slight,
to let me stay until the morning light.
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Author:
Joseph M Marion (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2026 08:56
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments2
This poem feels supportive and warm with support from the outside. Nicely done Joseph it speaks to me.
I try to use some of the things I've learned from you thank you for such all the wonderful things you've taught me to reading your work great job
You are most welcome Joseph and it is kind of you to say such things
'Some days' I have felt too. Now the warm hand is there. Your poem is very relatable. Many thanks.
I can understand your view put those days that you feel the warm hands or you see feathers fall in front of you for no reason is the hand of the Lord reaching to you
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