In the quiet hours of the night,
When whispers of fear take flight,
I find a spark within my soul,
A light that guides, makes me whole.

Through the storm of cruel hands,
My spirit, like a tree, still stands,
With every scar, a story told,
Of battles fought, of growing bold.

The echoes of the past may linger,
But hope rests on each finger,
I rise above the tearing seams,
Reclaiming life, rebuilding dreams.

From the ashes, I emerge anew,
A phoenix strong, with skies in view,
Survived the dark, embraced the light,
My heart, a beacon in the night.