Roots Below, Branches Above

"Even the roots knew his name. Even the light bowed to him at dusk."

The roots reach down where memory is sown,

their tendrils gripping soil with whispered care.

Each step I take recalls what they have known,

the earth still breathing all that lingers there.

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The branches stretch beyond the dusk and dawn,

their green ambition writing skyward hymns.

They sing of losses carried, yet not gone,

of shadows fading where the daylight dims.

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Roots teach me silence, patience, depth, and grief;

they hold the weight of all I cannot speak.

Branches release, their voices quick, though brief,

their flight is fragile, yet the truth they seek.

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So I am both—the earth that grounds the seed,

and skyward song, still growing from its need.