A Gentle Warning
Once—
a flicker on the screen,
a whisper in the wires—
Mendeley failed,
Word collapsed,
and suddenly
the silence felt… dangerous.
A small fear crept in—
what if everything vanished?
All the thoughts,
all the drafts,
all the almost-finished dreams.
And then—
a memory returned.
This has happened before.
A quiet lesson once ignored:
close the pages,
rest the machine,
protect the work
like a fragile prayer.
O God,
thank You for this subtle warning—
not a loss,
but a reminder wrapped in unease.
After this,
I will not delay.
I will write,
again and again,
before time dares to erase intention.
Let discipline grow
where panic once lived.
Let gratitude rise
where fear once stood.
Because even in error,
there is mercy—
a nudge back
to purpose.
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