© TaeHun Yoon

The walls of buildings—on either side—
cling to the faded hues of hope,
yet even decay cannot silence their waiting.

Knees buried in the dust of dreams, they rose—
and from the mouth—wide and green as promise—
spilled a ribbon, trembling, red with justice.

I searched the moon’s quiet face,
its hidden cheek, its secret eye—
each corner whispered, “Not yet… but soon.”
The moonlight, like mercy,
poured from the mountain’s crown—
white as truth, steady as breath—
washing the fields and the broken hours.

Sunlight stretched, unwilling to leave the wounds of earth,
dragging gold through ashes—
a child refusing to sleep
until peace was spoken.

If only it could descend to man—
to teach us how to shine without burning.

From the dove’s breast came thunder,
the heartbeat of a new beginning—
and at the edge of dawn we stood,
burning like lions,
singing justice into the wind.

The day no longer hides.
Seeds tremble awake.
Each drop of life rises.

Ah—God comes not in power,
but in the tender hand that lifts the fallen.

(1997, then 2025)