The door to tomorrow, Opens in the shadows of today, So brush aside the path of sorrow, And make your way The handle is rusted with old doubts, From hands that turned back too soon, But yours don’t have to share their route, You’re allowed to change the tune. Step past the echoes that beg you stay, Where yesterday’s ghosts still argue, Their voices thin with light of day, And find they can’t hold you. What waits isn’t promised or gold, Just space that hasn’t heard your name, A chance to be something less old, Than the hurt you came from. So press your palm to what might be, Let fear sweat drip from the frame, The door swings wide for one thing only: The one with your breath and your name.