Light is not just brightness—
it is a breath
that moves through the dark,
a whisper spoken in waves
across the silence of space.

It bends
not to break,
but to wrap itself around corners,
spilling into rooms
where hope forgot the door.

Born from stars,
light travels like memory—
ancient, untouchable,
yet always arriving
right when we need it most.

It dances on water,
sleeps in fire,
folds itself inside leaves
so trees can speak in green.

We chase it,
we become it—
flash of thought,
spark of touch,
the way two eyes meet
and everything changes.

Light is energy
with a soul.
It does not shout,
but it shows.

And when all else falls quiet,
light remains—
a pulse,
a presence,
the softest kind of power
we can never quite hold,
but always feel.