Among the Leaves

Behind my old home, a garden lay,

Wild and untamed, where shadows play.

Weeds tangled high, branches intertwined,

And leaves grew faster than hands could find.

I would sit when the world felt too heavy,

Pick a leaf, tear it—sometimes gentle, sometimes ready.

Each one a memory, a hurt, a word that stung,

A moment I wished had never begun.

I thought if I tore enough, if I let go,

The garden would vanish, along with woe.

But gardens are stubborn, roots run deep,

Even cleared soil holds secrets to keep.

Leaves swayed in wind, whispering still:

“There’s more to face than your hands can fill.”

Some pain cannot vanish, some seeds remain,

Growing quietly, through sunshine and rain.

Yet there is sweetness in this quiet fight,

In pulling the heaviest leaf with all your might.

Root and all, it comes free in your hand,

A spark, a victory, proof you still stand.

The garden will grow, the weeds return,

Leaves will sway, testing all you’ve learned.

But hands that hurt can also heal,

Patience and love become sunlight and seal.

Healing is not clearing the garden whole,

It’s walking among leaves, protecting your soul.

Knowing which to hold, which to release,

Learning the art of letting go brings peace.

For pain is soil where life can bloom,

Loss is sunlight that chases the gloom.

Every leaf you tear, every leaf you free,

Is courage whispered: “I am still me.”

May you find your garden, wild and true,

Leaves strong enough to lift, fragile enough to view,

Countless enough to teach, in their quiet sway,

The gentle, human art of letting go each day.