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 Forest Speaks
Within the hush of twilight’s glow,
Where silver winds through branches flow,
The forest wakes, its heartbeat near,
A voice that whispers, soft yet clear.
The oaks stand tall, like ancient kings,
Their crowns alive with secret things.
Each leaf a story, green and wide,
A memory time could never hide.
The pines breathe resin, sharp and sweet,
Their needles carpet weary feet.
They hum a hymn the night can hear,
A song of patience, deep and dear.
A stream runs wild, with crystal tone,
It smooths the jagged, shapes the stone.
It tells of journeys long and far,
Of moonlit paths and guiding star.
The fox emerges, sly and quick,
Its eyes aglow, its gait so slick.
It bows to shadows, fades from sight,
A phantom cloaked in silver night.
The owl, with eyes of molten flame,
Calls each traveler by their name.
Its wings are silence, sharp and deep,
It keeps the wisdom others keep.
The forest speaks in breath and sigh,
In rustling leaves, in stars on high.
It speaks of loss, of love, of birth,
Of roots that bind the bones of earth.
A wanderer comes with weary tread,
His heart weighed down, his spirit bled.
He kneels upon the mossy ground,
And feels the forest all around.
The trees lean close, their branches bend,
Their voices mingle, words descend:
“You are not broken, not alone.
The earth still knows you as its own.”
The wanderer lifts his eyes in awe,
And finds the night without a flaw.
Each star a lantern, each breeze a hand,
Guiding him through the shadowed land.
He drinks the stream, he hears the call,
He feels the forest cradle all.
His pain dissolves like morning dew,
His soul reborn, his heart made new.
At dawn the birds awake the sky,
Their wings like sparks that leap and fly.
They weave together light and song,
Declaring where all hearts belong.
The sun ascends, the branches blaze,
The forest glows in golden haze.
And every creature, great and small,
Rejoices in the gift to all.
For here, no sorrow lasts too long,
The roots are deep, the trees are strong.
The forest speaks in steady streams,
It heals the cracks, it fuels the dreams.
And those who leave still hear its call,
In city streets, in shadows tall.
A whisper riding on the breeze,
A memory woven in the trees.
So when the world feels sharp and loud,
When storms grow heavy, skies turn proud—
Remember how the forest speaks,
Its voice eternal, calm, unique.
For every branch, each root, each stone,
Declares that none must walk alone.
And in its song, so vast, so true,
The forest keeps a place for you.
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