Where Light Learns To Speak

Where Light Learns To Speak

The rose did not arrive to be admired or owned,

it stood within its own red thinking, calm and exact.

Petals folded like held words, patient and certain,

as though beauty can exist without explanation.

Around it, colour moved like memory through glass,

edges bending, never breaking, never shouting.

The frame did not trap it, only listened,

allowing stillness to remain what it was.

Elsewhere, the sky forgot how to be a ceiling.

Light drifted and gathered, speaking in slow fire.

Gold traced the air like thought made visible,

each glow a sentence that refused to end.

A lone figure stood where the earth met reflection,

not asking for answers, not demanding a sign.

Presence was enough, breath was enough,

the moment held without being named.

The universe leaned closer, not to overwhelm,

only to remind the heart it is part of the language.

Wonder did not rush, it rested and waited,

knowing truth arrives when it is ready to stay.