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 River That Remembers
Beneath the mountain’s shadowed crest,
A silver river wound its rest.
Its waters whispered, low and deep,
Of secrets hidden, dreams asleep.
The villagers spoke with hushed refrain,
Of how the river carried pain.
It held the voices lost to time,
The broken prayers, the fallen rhyme.
But few were bold to walk its side,
Where reeds like sentinels would hide.
For those who lingered, those who stayed,
Returned with eyes both dim and frayed.
I. The Wanderer
A wanderer came with boots of dust,
A soul long weary, a heart of rust.
His name forgotten, his path unsure,
He sought the river’s ancient cure.
He knelt beside its trembling glass,
And watched his tattered memories pass.
A boy with laughter, fierce and wild,
A mother’s kiss upon a child.
Yet also there, the shadows spread—
A battlefield, the fallen dead.
The cries of brothers lost to flame,
The echo of a whispered name.
“River,” he begged, “unbind this chain,
Wash me free of grief and stain.
Let me remember joy alone,
And turn my heart to living stone.”
The river murmured, clear, profound:
“What’s buried deep cannot be drowned.
To lose your sorrow, lose your song.
For joy and grief are bound, lifelong.”
The wanderer wept, his body torn,
But from his tears, a hope was born.
He rose and walked, though burdened still,
Yet now his heart could bend, not kill.
II. The Maiden
Next came a maiden, eyes like rain,
Her voice a thread of broken pain.
She carried blossoms, pale and sweet,
To cast them at the river’s feet.
“River,” she whispered, “hear my cry,
My love has gone, yet still I try.
He swore by stars he’d not depart,
But death has stilled his beating heart.”
She dropped the flowers one by one,
Their petals drinking in the sun.
Upon the water’s shifting skin,
She saw his smile, his gentle grin.
“Come join me, dearest,” called his shade,
“Here in the peace the river made.”
She reached, her fingers brushed the flow,
But coldness struck, and bade her no.
The river’s voice grew stern and clear:
“Love lingers long, though none appear.
Your grief is proof, your ache is flame,
That death has not erased his name.”
The maiden trembled, yet she stayed,
Her blossoms drifting, slowly frayed.
She left the river, sorrowed, true—
But carried him in all she knew.
III. The Child
A child came laughing, bold and free,
Unburdened by life’s misery.
She dipped her toes, she sang her song,
The river echoed, sang along.
“O river bright, O river clear,
What wonders hide within you here?”
The waters shimmered, soft, amused,
By innocence so rarely used.
It showed her gardens yet to bloom,
A future shining, free from gloom.
Her hands would paint, her voice would rise,
Her laughter touch unnumbered skies.
“Is this my fate?” the child did say,
“Or can I choose another way?”
The river chuckled, wise, aware:
“The road is yours, if you but dare.
I show you seeds, not walls of stone,
The future blossoms, yours alone.”
The child skipped off, her spirit light,
Her heart aflame with future’s sight.
The river stilled, its surface calm,
And held her laughter like a psalm.
IV. The Elder
Last came an elder, slow of breath,
His footsteps near the door of death.
He bowed before the river’s bend,
And prayed to see the journey’s end.
“O river vast, O river kind,
I’ve lived my years, I’ve spent my mind.
I do not fear what lies ahead,
But long to greet my waiting dead.”
The water swelled, a golden gleam,
Revealing faces in a dream.
His parents smiled, his lover too,
And friends long lost to morning dew.
The elder sighed, his spirit eased,
His worries silenced, heart appeased.
The river whispered, soft, divine:
“All roads return, in time, to mine.
Fear not the dark, nor sorrow’s end,
For every current turns, my friend.”
The elder smiled, his journey near,
And left the river without fear.
V. The River Itself
And so it flows, both deep and wide,
A mirror where the lost confide.
It holds no malice, none disdain,
It carries joy as well as pain.
The wanderer, the maiden fair,
The child, the elder bent with care—
All found a truth along its shore,
That life is loss, and yet far more.
The river speaks to those who bend,
Who seek beginning in an end.
It does not promise easy peace,
But shows that love shall never cease.
And if you walk to meet its gleam,
You’ll find more than a fleeting dream.
For in its depths, both dark and true,
The river whispers back to you.
Closing Verses
So let it run, through night, through day,
Through hearts that hope, through feet astray.
A keeper not of death alone,
But proof that no soul walks unknown.
Each tear it swallows, each song it saves,
Each echo from forgotten graves.
It keeps them all, a gentle trove,
And murmurs them to those who rove.
So when you hear a current sing,
Of sorrow deep, or joy in spring,
Remember, friend, you’re not apart:
The river flows within your heart.
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