Beneath the pines, where shadows weep,
The forest calls, a secret deep.
The wind it stirs, a quiet plea,
A mirror held to the soul in me.
The roots dig in, they twist, they bind,
Like threads of thought within my mind.
Each knot, a truth I’ve yet to face,
Each branch, a memory I can’t erase.
Needles fall, soft whispers of time,
Their gentle descent feels almost divine.
Each carries a secret, quiet and rare,
A fragment of self left lingering there.
The stillness speaks, a tender hymn,
Of light and shadow, thick and thin.
It strips me bare, it leaves me whole,
Revealing the core of my restless soul.
The forest hums with ancient grace,
Its breath a balm, its depth a space.
It draws the hidden wounds to light,
And grants me strength in the quiet night.
In the shadowed depths, I find my peace,
And in my heart, the thrum won't cease.
For though the forest mends and heals,
It sharpens truths that time reveals.
I walk the path, my spirit bends,
But in these trees, the breaking mends.
For in the pines, I’ve come to find,
The untamed echoes of my mind.