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 Ocean Remembers
Beneath the veil of sky so wide,
The ocean breathes with restless tide.
Its voice, a hymn both fierce and kind,
A mirror deep for heart and mind.
It speaks in whispers, soft, profound,
In crashing waves, in currents wound.
Each ripple tells of time once passed,
Of fleeting moments, shadows cast.
Upon its shore the children play,
Building castles doomed to sway.
The tide arrives, the walls collapse,
Yet laughter lingers in the gaps.
The ocean does not mourn the sand,
It takes, it gives, with steady hand.
It teaches all who watch its roll:
That change is written in the soul.
A sailor rides the foaming crest,
The sea his trial, his endless test.
He trusts the stars, he braves the rain,
And finds his courage born of pain.
A widow walks where gulls still cry,
Her gaze is fixed upon the sky.
She casts a flower to the deep,
And prays the ocean guards her keep.
An artist sits with brush in hand,
Sketching waves that kiss the land.
He paints their fury, paints their peace,
Their wild refrain that will not cease.
A poet waits where twilight gleams,
Her pen adrift in silver dreams.
She writes of tides, of loss, of flame,
And knows the ocean feels the same.
At night, the water holds the stars,
Galaxies swimming in its jars.
The moon, a lantern, pale and bright,
Guides ships across the endless night.
Yet storms will come, as storms must do,
The sea turns black, the sky turns blue.
It roars with anger, fierce, untamed,
No mortal voice can have it named.
Still when the tempest fades away,
The ocean hums at break of day.
It smooths the scars upon the sand,
And cradles life within its hand.
For in its depths, all truths reside—
The broken heart, the swollen pride.
The dreams that sank, the hopes that flew,
The ocean keeps them, old and new.
It does not judge, it does not blame,
It holds all stories just the same.
Kings and beggars, rich and poor,
All find their echoes on its shore.
And so I stand, both small and vast,
A fleeting soul, a shadow cast.
I hear the ocean’s steady song,
It tells me where I still belong.
That though the years will pull me far,
Though time may dim my guiding star,
The tide will always call my name,
Its voice eternal, wild, the same.
For every wave that breaks and bends,
Reminds me nothing truly ends.
The ocean gathers, mends, restores—
And carries love forevermore.
So let me walk this trembling strand,
With open heart and steady hand.
Let every breath, each fleeting ember,
Join the sea—for it remembers.
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