the weight of a fragile hope

do i see the calm before the storm  

or the calm after it?  

am i afraid to be happy,  

to let joy touch my weary soul,  

because i fear the tide will rise  

and sweep it all away?  

or am i quietly hopeful,  

holding on through this storm,  

certain that beyond the darkness  

lies a gentler dawn?  

does life balance misery and wonder  

in some divine measure,  

or must we endure the ache  

to earn the beauty?  

is suffering the cost of joy,  

or are they simply intertwined,  

two threads of the same fragile fabric?  

life was never easy,  

and it's harder still to believe  

that good things will come  

from the chaos,  

that there are blessings  

even in the shadow of pain.  

but perhaps every heartache  

is a seed of wisdom,  

and every lesson learned  

a gift wrapped in disguise.  

will i die having gathered  

the wisdom of this life,  

a full cup of truth in my hands,  

or will i leave this world  

with questions unanswered,  

a soul still thirsty?  

does age bring clarity,  

or only more mystery?  

when will salvation come?  

this endless cycle—  

learning, suffering,  

fleeting happiness, aching loss—  

will it lead to something whole?  

or is the journey itself  

the answer we refuse to see?  

when does the universe  

allow us to live fully?  

when will i feel  

that i have truly lived,  

hoped for the good things,  

and found them waiting?  

if everything is fleeting,  

why does this hurt linger  

as though it will never let go?  

am i a pessimist,  

trapped by the weight of my fears,  

or an optimist,  

rooted in the fragile hope  

that life’s storms  

will always clear?