I was shaped in quiet placesβ where wind threads through tall grass and rivers revise their edges against ancient stone; my becoming was not loudβ it was the thaw beneath frost, the conversation between trees, steeped in folklore and rain; I listened to the earth breathe, to roots working in the dark, and the quiet hum of the old gods as they slumbered beneath the moss; I am the language of seasons, rising with the sap, carrying the wild hush of forests inside my ribs as I awaken to the spring.
"I listened to the earth breathe, to roots working in the dark, and the quiet hum of the old gods as they slumbered beneath the moss..."
This poem is an entire story in a few stanzas. A most beautiful description of becoming in the wild, a place which I believe exists NOT just in folklore. I could read this a hundred times, and each time, I would find another way to travel into another land.
Reads as a nod to the great Romantics. thank you for sharing, Jo.
Thank you for reading!
This is absolutely beautiful Jo
Thank you, Aaliya.
Beautiful and visual words... full of kindness and respect for what surrounds us β₯οΈπ
Thank you!
Thank you for reading!
"I listened to the earth breathe, to roots working in the dark, and the quiet hum of the old gods as they slumbered beneath the moss..."
This poem is an entire story in a few stanzas. A most beautiful description of becoming in the wild, a place which I believe exists NOT just in folklore. I could read this a hundred times, and each time, I would find another way to travel into another land.
Iβm so glad you think so. Thank you!