The day begins where shadows sleep, In valleys carved by ancient rain,
Soft whispers on the mountain keep
The memory of a world in pain.
The wind remembers names once known,
Etched deep in stone, forgotten graves,
It sings to roots and seeds unsown,
Of all the dreams the silence saves.
A bridge of gold across the mist,
Leads wanderers through twilight’s hall,
Where every loss and promise kissed,
Lie folded in the nightbird’s call.
The stars ignite their patient eyes,
And gaze upon the turning sphere;
The heart becomes the sky’s reprise,
A mirror to what we revere.
Through candle smoke and drifting years,
We walk, we pause, we break, we mend;
Our laughter laced with sudden tears,
Our longing with no certain end.
Yet somewhere past the forest gate,
Beyond the reach of time’s design,
Two rivers meet, dissolve their state,
And all that’s lost becomes divine.
So let the dawn resume its grace,
Unfolding slow, serene, and wide—
Within each heart, a hidden place
Where sorrow learns to sing beside.
Through the Fog 