reason

Some things unfold in whispers,
not for the hurried ear—
they bloom in the hush
where doubt and wonder meet.

The unseen hand moves quietly,
painting cause behind the veil,
each turn, each tear, each tremor—
a lesson sealed in grace.

Blurred eyes see loss and chance,
open hearts see light disguised—
for every ache, a seed is sown,
for every end, an unseen dawn.

So wait, not with fear, but faith—
for reason is not to be found,
it reveals itself in stillness—
when the heart remembers to see.