Still Walking

AI generated image

I have walked through many seasons,

bare hands carrying bread and burdens,

a single flame in the dark,

a mother’s voice steady against storms.

I have known the silence of rooms

where laughter once lived,

and the ache of asking favors

that never find their way to lips.

Sometimes it feels as though

I am asked to walk until the end,

my footsteps fading into dust,

my heart still beating for those

who no longer need my arms

but whose futures I cradle in prayer.

I am not as strong as I was,

yet strength still lingers—

in the way I rise each morning,

in the way I hold my children’s names

like hymns upon my tongue.

Savings folded away,

memories stitched into years of labor,

I pause now,

freelance hours scattered like leaves,

wondering if the worth of staying

is measured in the love I give,

or in the quiet endurance

of a soul that refuses to let go.

God, I ask You—

let me remain,

let me see their paths unfold,

let me guard them a little longer.

I do not seek riches,

only time,

only the grace to stand beside them

until their roots are deep enough

to hold against the winds.

There are nights when headaches

press against my temples,

and tears blur the pages of my prayers.

Yet even in sorrow,

I whisper gratitude—

for the years already given,

for the chance to love,

for the strength to walk,

even when the road feels endless.

I am still here.

Not finished, not forgotten.

Still walking,

still praying,

still holding the future

like a fragile flame in my hands.

In the Silence of the Frame

We’ve never met—not in the way

the wind meets leaves, or hands find hands.

Yet through poetry and photographs,

I glimpse a world my heart understands.

A stranger bends to light and shadow,

 capturing silence in golden skies.

I write of woods, dusk, and solitude —

his art responds, though unaware of my eyes.

His lens leans close to the effect of lights:

from the sky to waters, and the structures beneath.

I linger in the quiet spaces,

where admiration hides in gentle delight.

He knows I love the sun’s descent,

how it spills secrets across the sky.

And when I see that amber stillness,

I wonder if it speaks to me too.

No declarations, no confessions—

just verses left like fallen leaves.

And in return, his photographs

echo something my heart believes.

So here I stay, behind the screen,

where art and nature intertwine.

In the silence of the frame, I dwell—

a stranger moved, yet quietly aligned.

~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily,  10 February 2026 - All Rights Reserved