The Razor's Path

There comes a time in every soul’s race,

When pain is carved into every place.

Forward feels like fire through the bone,

Backward echoes with a ghostly moan.

To stand still is to slowly fade,

Like a snail on a razorblade.

Each breath a gamble, each inch a cost,

Each moment paused, another lost.

But still, we move with trembling grace,

Carrying storms we cannot face.

Not for glory, not for pride,

But to keep a little flame alive inside.

Though wounds may form with each small stride,

And fear may whisper, “Run and hide,”

We press ahead, through hurt and strife,

Because movement, somehow, means life.

So gather your courage, battered and thin,

Let tears fall, but do not give in.

Even if all you can do is crawl,

Move, before silence ends it all.

---

P.S. If this poem touched something tender in you, carry that gentleness with you today.

Sometimes, healing begins with the smallest acts of self-care. That is why I offer Aloe Lips with Jojoba.

A simple balm, but one I have seen bring softness where life feels cracked.

Need one?

Kennedy Odhiambo