• «It all starts tomorrow».

When the sky caves in and the ground gives way,
I won’t beg the stars to show the day.
I’ve got a fire that the rain can’t kill,
a stubborn pulse that answers every chill.
The road is broken, but my feet are steel —
I choose to rise, I choose to feel.

They said the fight was lost before it started,
that every dream gets broken, broken-hearted.
But hope’s a hammer in a calloused hand,
I swing it wide to build a better land.
I don’t need wings to climb the air —
I need my will, I need my prayer.

There is a shadow that crawls through the day,
it whispers “stay down, you have no say.”
I spit on silence, I laugh at the lie —
I lift my voice while the cowards cry.
The darkness trembles when I decide to stand,
a single light in a wounded land.

Blood may stain these open palms,
but I’m not running from the psalms.
of battle, of justice, of breaking chains —
I wade through mud, I drink the rains.
I’m not afraid to dirty my hands,
to dig for truth in the shifting sands.

Evil wears a thousand masks —
a smiling face, a whispered task.
But I’ve learned to see behind the grin,
to tear the veil and call it sin.
My sword is mercy, my shield is bone,
I fight alone but never lone.

The scars I carry are medals of grace,
each one a lesson, each one a place.
where I fell hard and rose again —
a battered heart that can still ascend.
Optimism isn’t a fragile flower —
it’s a fist that builds a tower.

When the night is long and the hope feels thin,
I count my breaths and I begin again.
The sun will crack the horizon wide —
I’ll be standing on the other side.
Not because the path was clear,
but because I chose to persevere.

Let the tyrants laugh, let the walls stand tall,
every stone will crack, every fortress fall.
I’ll dig with my nails, I’ll claw through the years,
I’ll turn every wound into a spear.
The wicked think they own the game —
but they forgot my middle name is Flame.

So here’s my anthem, rough and loud,
a song for the broken, the unbowed.
No polished verse, no perfect key —
just the truth that sets us free.
I’ll sing it in the rain, I’ll shout it in the fire —
hope is the fuel for my desire.

And when this journey finally ends,
when evil bends and the world mends.
I’ll wash my hands in a river of light,
remembering the battles fought at night.
Optimism isn’t blind — it sees the blood and still believes:
that every fall is just a launch,
and every soul that fights can rise above.

— Angelskij/Ангелич
(https://t.me/poet_ot_boga)