The Song of Endless Roads I. The Beginning The morning stirs with golden breath, A hush before the day is born. The earth awakens, soft and slow, Its heart still trembling from the dawn. I step into the waiting silence, Shoes damp with dew, lungs filled with sky. The road before me bends and whispers, “Walk on, child, don’t ask why.” For every path has secrets hidden, Carved in stone and sung by streams, And those who dare to keep on walking Find their footsteps leading into dreams. II. Voices of the Earth The fields are choirs of quiet wonder, Grass blades hum in emerald rows. The trees hold council in their stillness, Guardians of what the spirit knows. Birdsong bursts like sudden laughter, Rising clear where shadows fade. Each feathered voice a note of freedom, Each trill a hymn creation made. The wind becomes my patient teacher, Tracing stories along my skin. It speaks of journeys without ending, Of worlds that live both out and in. III. The Weight ...
The Eternal Garden
There lies a garden, vast and wide,
Where morning meets the eventide.
Its soil is made of whispered prayers,
Its trees are born from ancient cares.
The flowers bloom in colors rare,
Each petal shaped by tender air.
They rise from shadows, soft yet strong,
A living echo, a sacred song.
The roses hum of love’s first fire,
Of longing hearts and pure desire.
Their thorns remind us as they glow,
That joy is sweet when we still know.
The lilies sway with gentle grace,
They mirror peace on every face.
They teach of silence, calm and true,
Of healing rains, of morning dew.
The garden paths are winding streams,
They carry fragments of our dreams.
Some glitter bright with hope and cheer,
Some clouded deep with doubt and fear.
A willow stands with arms so wide,
Its roots in earth, its crown in sky.
Beneath its shade, lost souls may rest,
And feel again their hearts are blessed.
A bird of dawn begins to sing,
Its voice, a thread on silver wing.
It lifts the sorrow, breaks the chain,
And plants new seeds of light in pain.
For every heart that feels alone,
The garden whispers, “You are known.”
Its soil remembers every tear,
Each moment lived, each fleeting year.
The garden holds the child who plays,
Who runs through fields of endless days.
It holds the elder, frail, and kind,
Whose eyes still glow with timeless mind.
It holds the dreamer, wild and free,
Who dares to write eternity.
It holds the weary, bent with strife,
Who yet still guards the flame of life.
In storms, the garden bends, not breaks,
It learns from all the wounds it takes.
Each fallen branch, each broken stem,
Becomes a crown, a diadem.
And when the night begins to fall,
The garden wraps its endless thrall.
The moonlight spills on silver streams,
And turns the world to woven dreams.
The stars arrive with patient glow,
They teach the heart what it must know:
That even darkness hides a spark,
That dawn is born inside the dark.
I walk its paths, my hands outstretched,
My spirit torn, my spirit blessed.
I feel the roots beneath my feet,
I hear the pulse, both fierce and sweet.
The garden speaks in wordless song,
It tells me where I do belong.
Not just in joy, not just in pain,
But in the weaving of the chain.
It says: “Your laughter feeds the trees,
Your sighs are carried by the breeze.
Your scars become the earth’s embrace,
Your courage paints the morning’s face.”
So let me stay within this place,
And learn the rhythm, learn the grace.
For every bloom that fades away,
Another rises with the day.
And when at last my breath is done,
When I have seen the final sun,
My dust will join the fertile ground,
Where all beginnings can be found.
For life is but a fleeting thread,
Yet woven where no thread is dead.
The garden keeps what time may part,
It holds the seed of every heart.
So walk with me, through root and rain,
Through joy and sorrow, loss and gain.
The Eternal Garden waits, serene,
A boundless home, forever green.
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