Adena M'lynn's Voice

“Both Lights” (by Adena M’lynn) I am grateful— for the Light that burns before me, ancient and unquenchable, the flame that split darkness on the first breath of creation. That Light — the one that doesn’t flicker when storms roll in, that doesn’t need oil or match, because it  is  the fire, the very pulse of morning. That’s  the Light of the world — the Christ-light, the steady sun that never sleeps, the compass hidden in every heart that dares to look up. And yet— in mercy, that same Light found me. Bent wick, half-burnt, smoke curling in the shape of surrender. He touched my edge, and I caught. Now I glow— not the sun, but a candle in His window, not the dawn, but a reflection of it on a tear-streaked cheek. I am  a light of the world , a streetlamp on the corner where someone waits, afraid. A kitchen bulb that hums at midnight when the lost one comes home. A firefly caught in a mason jar of grace, my glow small, but real enough to make another heart remember morn...

I was inspired by Credence Clear Water’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” “Rain On A Sunny Day” Written by Adena M’lynn I sat with the song one morning— sunlight spilling across my skin, coffee cooling beside me, and that voice—raw, steady— asking,  “Have you ever seen the rain?” I closed my eyes, and felt it— that quiet ache that hides beneath the bright. The kind of sorrow that wears a smile so no one sees it breaking. Success looks a lot like sunshine— gold, blinding, a warmth that everyone assumes feels good. But what they don’t know is how heavy light can be when your heart’s still drenched from the last storm. I asked the song to tell me who I was. It didn’t answer— it just played back my silence. The rain became memory, the sun became mask, and the space between them— that’s where my truth lives. I’ve been that band before— standing center stage, applause so loud it drowned the warning thunder, smiling while something sacred was slipping through the cracks. And maybe that’...

There’s a sacredness in truly seeing someone—their pain, their grace, their becoming. This piece is for the moments when “I see you” means “I see the God in you.” I’ve spent most of my life asking God to send me someone who could  see  me—not fix me, not save me, just see me. Maybe that’s why this poem found me first. He has sent three people who said, “I see you.” I believe they did. I am here, not invisible.  “When I See You” by Adena M’lynn Spoken word When I say,  “I see you,” I don’t mean it like eyesight— I mean it like soul-sight . Like— I see the ache behind your smile , the prayers you never wrote down, the storms you outlasted quietly. I see the fingerprints of God still wet on your becoming. When I say,  “I see you,” I mean I’ve stopped long enough to notice the divine thumbprint in the dirt and the tears. Love can be loud— a word we throw like confetti. But seeing? Seeing is worship. Because when I say,  “I see you,” I’m saying, “I see the God i...

It starts with the curve— a crescent umoon painted across a tired face. The kind of light that doesn’t come from stars, but from habit. People say, “what a beautiful smile .” They don’t see the scaffolding beneath it —  how heavy steel can bend when the soul’s foundation is cracked. It’s a mask , but not for deceit. It’s survival. A small, trembling flag in the middle of a storm . The teeth shine but the tongue hides— words swallowed, tears disguised as laughter . Sometimes the corners ache, like old wounds stitched too tight. But I keep wearing it. Because if I take it off, someone might see the hollow. And hollows are hard to explain when the world prefers a smile.