Before the words, my hands grow cold,

The weight of truth, so hard to hold.

A heart, unsure, but trained to speak,

A voice that trembles, yet must be weak.

What will they hear? What will they feel?

How will I make their sorrow real?

The room is heavy, filled with air,

A silence thick with silent prayer.

Good news, I hope, a brighter day—

Or words of loss, too hard to say.

I stand between them, truth in hand,

A bridge between the earth and sand.

My mind is racing, yet I know,

I must be kind, and let it flow.

The message clear, but hearts may break,

For healing’s journey, we must take .