In the forest of our hearts,
the paths are overgrown,
tangled with thorns
and the whispers of storms
we weathered in silence.
Once, there was a sunbeam,
a laughter that danced like dandelion seeds,
but the walls we built
bricks of shame and doubt
rose high,
a fortress against the world,
yet also against ourselves.
We wander,
lost in a maze of our own making,
the echoes of yesterdays
wrapped in ivy,
binding us to the shadows.
It is there, amid the thick underbrush,
that we search for the child we buried,
the one who once ran barefoot
through fields of wildflowers,
the one who believed
the sky was a blanket
woven with dreams.
And the day comes,
like the first thaw of spring,
when we feel the warmth seep
through the cracks in our armor,
when the memories of cruel winters
begin to melt,
revealing a tender sapling,
fragile yet fierce,
waiting for the rain
of our own kindness.
We hold our inner child,
a bud still unbloomed,
cradled in the palms of forgiveness.
We whisper softly,
'You are safe here,
you are enough.'
And as the voices of the past fade,
their echoes dissipating
like mist in morning light,
we build a sanctuary,
not of walls,
but of meadows,
where laughter can roam free
and joy can grow wild.
Here, in this sacred space,
we learn to validate the whispers,
the fears, the longings,
letting them unfurl like petals
under the sun,
realizing that healing is not a destination
but the return to a garden
that was ours all along.
In the embrace of our own heart,
we find the lost child,
and together, we breathe,
together, we bloom,
together, we forge a path
where the thorns give way
to the softness of understanding,
and every step forward
is a step toward home.
Copyright ©️ 2024 Daniel Ryan Cotler
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem