Reaching Through the Dark
“Not quite the sun, but something bright / enough to keep me still running free.”
There are poems we write when we’re healing, and poems we write while still bleeding. This one is the latter. *Reaching Through the Dark* doesn’t emerge from resolution — it emerges from motion. From continuing. From breath in the frost. I wrote this not with triumph in my lungs, but with quiet fire in my chest. The kind of fire that doesn't warm, but refuses to go out. You’ll feel it in the rhythm — each stanza a step forward when the road gives no sign, no sun, no voice. This is for those who still walk, even when there’s no promise of arrival. For the ones who reach toward something they’ve never touched, but still believe might exist — not out of certainty, but out of refusal to stop reaching. It's a slow poem. A cold one. But it’s alive. That matters. Sometimes, being alive is the entire act of defiance. And the most sacred one. Read the full poem and analysis tomorrow 01.11.2025:© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite