Description
Where Will Your Road End?
(a mystical reflection)
Beneath the breath of ancient trees,
where blossoms glow with borrowed light,
a path unfolds—mud-soaked, remembering,
soft with the footsteps of those long gone.
Mist rises not as fog, but soul—
translucent forms drifting
between bark and branch,
as if the forest listens,
and the trees know your name.
They do not speak,
but their silence is full of presence.
Above it all, the heavens stir—
not with thunder,
but with a gaze carved from cloud,
a face vast and timeless,
bearded like old mountains,
eyes deep with knowing.
He watches.
Not with judgment,
but with waiting.
As if to say:
“This road leads many places,
but only one end.
What will you bring there?”
The colors around you bloom like memory—
too vivid to be real,
too gentle to be dreamed.
Each petal, a prayer.
Each ghost, a guide.
You walk not alone.
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