Poetry

Seeds of the Unseen

A hush lingers,
pregnant with what-could-be,
the air swollen with whispers
of unformed dawns.

Roots tangle with forgotten soil,
grasping for a promise
not yet spoken.
The earth sighs in its turning,
cradling the weight of becoming.

Time unspools—
a thread pulled taut
between the was and the will-be,
each moment, ŵqa spark
birthing itself into flame.

Petals unfurl in shadows,
soft as an unseen breath.
Not an end,
not a beginning—
just the dance of all things waking.

©️anie

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