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  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 ...

  Whispers Between the Stars Beneath the velvet curtain of the sky, Where stars are scattered like seeds of fire, I wander in silence, asking the night What it means to carry both loss and desire. The moon leans down, a silver-faced guide, Its light trembling on restless seas, And every ripple speaks in secret tongues, Telling stories older than trees. Time drifts by on invisible wings, Hours fluttering like startled birds, And yet, within the heart’s deep chambers, There are echoes no clock can turn to words. I see the river bend like memory, Carrying fragments of forgotten days, A mother’s lullaby, a lover’s laughter, Moments lost in the current’s haze. But some return, fierce and unbroken, Clinging to the rocks of soul, Like lanterns lit against the storm, Refusing to dim, refusing to fold. And so I walk, with shadows trailing, Through alleys of thought, through forests of dream, Each step a verse, each breath a stanza, In a poem written by the unseen. T...

  The Garden of Stars In the hush of a midnight meadow, where silence wears a silver cloak, the wind drifts soft like whispered vows, and ancient oaks bend as they spoke. The earth is dark, the air is deep, yet lanterns bloom where shadows are, not made of flame, nor glass, nor oil, but petals born from falling stars. They scatter wide in secret fields, they glow with colors none can name, a thousand hues the sky once dreamed, now gathered here, untamed, aflame. A wanderer walks with weary feet, his past a road of ash and stone, his eyes still bright with shattered hope, though much of him feels carved to bone. He stumbles through the grasses tall, and lifts his face to heaven’s seam, where stars above and stars below entangle like a woven dream. The flowers hum—a trembling song, their voices soft as rainfall’s thread, they sing of time, of loss, of love, of those alive, and those long dead. The wanderer kneels, his chest unstill, he feels the ache of all ...

  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...

  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 ...

  The River of Tomorrow Beneath the endless stretch of skies, where dawn is born and daylight dies, a river flows with silver gleam, carrying whispers, thought, and dream. It curves through mountains old and wise, reflecting stars in midnight’s eyes, it hums a song both deep and slow, of things we’ve lost, and those we know. Upon its banks the willows lean, their branches weaving threads unseen, like hands that long to touch the stream, to catch a fragment of its dream. A traveler comes, his heart is worn, his shoes are frayed, his cloak is torn, he kneels beside the water’s edge, to drink of truth, to break a pledge. For in the current’s liquid face, he sees a younger self in place, a boy with laughter in his chest, who once believed in endless rest. The boy is gone, the man remains, but in his bones, the echo stains, and so he asks the river near, “Where goes the time I held so dear?” The river speaks in murmured tones, like wind that chills the marrowed...

  The City of Forgotten Stars Beneath the veil of a restless sky, A city stands where the echoes lie. Its streets are carved in dust and flame, Each corner whispering someone’s name. The lamps are weary, the towers tall, The bricks remember the rise, the fall. Yet still the city hums a tune, Half in shadow, half in moon. The river coils through veins of stone, Carrying voices, soft and lone. Boats drift slowly, lost in dreams, Guided by lanterns, silver beams. At dawn, the market begins to sing, Merchants gather, their banners cling. Spices scatter like sparks of gold, Tales are bartered, secrets sold. A poet sits with paper bare, Ink like thunder, thoughts laid bare. He writes of stars that fade from sight, Of lovers meeting in borrowed light. A child runs laughing, wild and free, Chasing shadows no one can see. Her joy, a fire that breaks the gray, Her voice, a hymn to a brighter day. A beggar kneels by a broken door, He counts his blessings, though they...

  The Garden of Eternal Dawn In the hush before the rising sun, Where night’s long vigil is nearly done, There lies a garden, unseen by eyes, A realm of whispers, where silence lies. The air is woven with scents of grace, Petals of memory bloom in place. Each leaf is etched with a tale untold, Each stem is rooted in dreams of old. A traveler wanders with trembling feet, The garden beckons, its call discreet. Through arches woven of ivy green, He steps into what has never been. The roses burn with a gentle flame, Each one whispering someone’s name. They hold the laughter of years gone by, And shimmer softly when breezes sigh. A willow bends with ancient care, Its branches dripping with secret prayer. Every tear that the lost have cried, Is gathered here, where none can hide. The traveler kneels beside a stream, Its silver waters reflect a dream. Not of the past, nor days unborn, But of the heart both bruised and worn. The current hums with a steady tone, “Y...

  The River of Time Beneath the sky of endless hue, The river of time flows steady, true. It carries whispers, dreams, and fears, Stories woven through countless years. Its waters glisten in dawn’s first light, A silver path through day and night. Upon its banks, the children play, Unaware how soon they’ll drift away. The river hums a timeless song, A melody both soft and strong. It speaks of lovers, hand in hand, Who carve their names into the sand. Yet tides will rise, and winds will call, The river remembers—it erases all. Still hearts return with hope to find, The echoes left, the ties that bind. A traveler comes with weary feet, The current calls, serene, discreet. He kneels to sip, and in the stream, He sees reflections of his dream. A soldier kneels with armor torn, His eyes are tired, his spirit worn. He casts his sorrow to the deep, The river rocks his grief to sleep. An artist dips his brush within, And paints the world on waters thin. Colors ri...

  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 grie...

  The Song of the Endless Road Beneath the arch of waking skies, A road begins, where silence lies. It bends through forests, deep and vast, It echoes footsteps, present, past. The stones remember every tread, The living souls, the wandering dead. Each step a verse, each mile a rhyme, Composed within the book of time. I set my foot upon its way, Not knowing night, not knowing day. The road replied in whispers low: "You are the seeker—walk, and know." It led me first through fields of green, Where laughter bloomed, where hearts were seen. Children played with voices bright, And love was born in morning light. But soon the fields gave way to shade, Where broken hearts and grief were laid. I passed a willow bent with tears, It held the weight of countless years. "Fear not the sorrow," said the tree, "For roots are deep where pain may be. What falls as rain will rise as seed, What hurts today is strength you’ll need." I bowed my head,...

  The Lanterns of the Soul At dusk, when shadows stretch the ground, And silence hums without a sound, A thousand lanterns start to glow, Each one a life, a heart we know. They rise above the fields of night, They carry warmth, they carry light. No two the same, yet all aligned, A map of souls through endless time. The first is small, a tender flame, It whispers softly, speaks no name. It holds the laughter of a child, The unspoiled heart, the spirit wild. The second shines with steady grace, A lover’s hand, a warm embrace. It flickers not, though winds may shake, For love endures through all we take. The third burns fierce, a storm of fire, It pulses deep with raw desire. It fuels the dreamer’s restless quest, The longing heart that knows no rest. The fourth is dim, yet not undone, It tells of battles lost, not won. A scarred and trembling, fragile light, Yet brave for simply shining bright. The fifth reflects a sage’s mind, Its glow is patient, calm, ref...

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 lif...

  The River of Time Beneath the quiet sky, a river flows unseen, its waters woven with silver threads of memory, its currents shaped by whispers of forgotten dreams. Each drop is a heartbeat, each ripple a story, each bend a chance we once held in trembling hands. Time does not pause for the weary, nor does it rush for the eager— it moves as it must, steady, patient, eternal, teaching us that nothing we touch is ever truly ours to keep. I have walked its banks in solitude, watched autumn leaves surrender to the water, their colors bright even as they drifted toward the unknown. And I wondered: are we not like those leaves? Clinging to our trees of comfort, afraid of the fall, yet destined to find the freedom of the current. There are faces in the river, smiles blurred by distance, eyes that once lit the lanterns of my nights. Some are gone, yet their reflections linger, etched into the surface of time’s water. I try to hold them, but the river slips thr...

 I. The First Spark I remember the moment before you, the silence that carried no music, the nights that were full of stars yet empty of meaning. My heart was a vessel, waiting, a cathedral with unlit candles, an ocean that had never known the tides. Then you appeared— not like thunder, not like lightning, but like a soft dawn spilling over mountains, a slow unfurling of light that revealed everything I had forgotten to see. Your name entered me like breath, your smile unraveled the knots of years, and my chest, once heavy with waiting, suddenly opened like a door long rusted shut. --- II. The Language of Eyes Before we spoke, we conversed in glances. Eyes like constellations, pulling me into their gravity. Every time our gazes met, something ancient was remembered: as if souls, scattered in lifetimes past, were greeting each other again, shaking off centuries of dust. In those eyes I saw oceans, entire worlds not yet traveled. I saw both a question and its answer, both a home and ...