She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers
Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 7:38 PM UTC
She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers
Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear
A poem about escaping what’s heavy and letting the earth hold some of it for you.
Sometimes healing starts with a whisper through the trees—and a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.
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