I Wrote This And Called It A Poem

Some mornings wear the sun too bright,
Its fire stitched beneath my skin.
I race the wind, outrun the light,
Certain every dream can win.

The hours bloom in brilliant gold,
Ideas spark like summer rain.
The world feels small, my heart feels bold—
Until the clouds return again.

Then silence settles, heavy, slow,
A winter no one else can see.
The colors dim, the rivers freeze,
And every step weighs endlessly.

Between these skies I learn to stand,
Not only storm, not only flame.
I am more than shifting sand,
More than any single name.

Hope is quiet, rarely loud;
It grows in hands that choose to stay—
In voices, love, and reaching out,
Until the night gives way to day.

So if you see me rise or fall,
Know neither moment tells my whole.
For even through the changing skies,
There lives one constant: my soul.