The relief in your words is palpable, like that first sip of water after a parched trek through a desert of doubt. "It's okay to exhale…" you say, and I can almost hear the collective sigh of your readers.

Your poem is a waiting room where tension and uncertainty sit side by side, but then "my turn…" comes, and it's a liberation.

You've not just silenced the hyenas; you've given us permission to breathe, to "lay firm hand upon mine" and face a brighter future. It's a poetic prescription for the soul, and the co-pay is simply a moment of reflection.