Golden light spills through the curtain’s seam,
A hush falls on the waiting dream.
Hands that tremble, hearts that beat too fast,
This moment held between the first and last.
The envelope opens, time stands still—
A name called out against the will
Of every doubt that whispered “not enough.”
The winner is… the rising above.
Tears of joy, or tears of loss, we rise,
For in this light, we’re all alive.
The music swells, the credits roll,
The winner is… the wounded soul.