Poem

One sinks beneath the water,

her frock billowing like a ghost,

a chain clasped to her ankle,

a rock dragging her down.

But still—

one hand reaches up,

searching for breath,

searching for mercy.

One curls in the eye of the storm,

winds screaming around her,

shadows circling like wolves.

She holds her knees to her chest,

hair tangled in the whirlwind.

She is small, but unbroken,

for she survives where even the winds bow down.

One lies at the bottom of the well,

thrown there, not by choice.

Walls are cold, wood hides the sky.

Yet a single shard of light

pierces through the broken cover.

Her eyes fix on it—

a promise that not all is closed,

not all is dark.

And one stands on the mountain’s edge,

feet stiff, heart trembling,

the ocean roaring below,

thunder cracking above.

She is frozen, yes—

but she has not fallen.

And that is enough for today.

Another wanders the forest,

trees whispering confusion,

paths splitting into endless roads.

She feels lost—

but her steps still move,

and where there is motion,

there is the chance of finding home.

Another hangs by a thread,

the abyss yawning beneath her.

Her grip shakes,

her arms ache.

But the thread does not break,

and she whispers to herself:

If I can hold for one more breath,

perhaps the dawn will come.

Another holds her heart close,

cradling faith like a flame.

She believes the night will pass,

that dawn will not forget her.

Her trust is quiet, steady—

and it tells her:

everything will be okay.

Seven women,

yet all are one.

Fragments scattered,

yet bound by a single truth:

They are not gone.

They are not erased.

They are still here.

They are me—

the one who has drowned, wandered, broken,

and still risen.

And that means—

so is faith,

so is hope,

so am I.

L. Red Rose