When the Moon Whispers

 When the Moon Whispers

When the moon whispers to the sea,
I feel the echo ripple through my chest,
A song older than memory,
Older than the shadows that cling to the corners of the night.

The tide carries stories in its rise and fall,
Stories of ships that vanished, of lovers who lingered,
Of hearts heavy with unsaid words,
And laughter that refused to fade.
I watch the water fold itself,
Silver against the dark,
And I know that even in silence, life is speaking.

The trees bend with patience,
Their roots tangled deep in forgotten earth,
And leaves trembling in the wind
Tell tales I almost remember.
There is a grace in their endurance,
A quiet dignity that outlasts storms,
That outlasts the hands of time
Even when it carves its name on everything.

A fox moves through the forest,
Eyes bright as candlelight in the dusk,
A fleeting shadow among shadows.
It pauses, listening,
And for a moment, I feel its knowing—
That life is fleeting,
That beauty is often shy,
Seen only by those who dare to truly see.

Night spreads its cloak across the sky,
Stars igniting one by one
Like sparks from a cosmic forge.
I lie on the grass, letting the earth
Cradle me in its patience,
And I feel the pulse of the universe
In the rhythm of my own heartbeat.

Somewhere, laughter lingers,
A memory folded into the corners of time,
And I reach for it,
Even though it slips like mist between my fingers.
Yet the mist leaves a trace,
A hint of warmth,
A promise that even what is gone
Leaves a mark upon the soul.

The wind hums through the hollows,
Carrying scents of rain, of wildflowers, of distant fields.
It speaks without words,
And I listen,
Letting it remind me of the paths I have walked,
Of the nights I have waited for dawn,
Of the courage found in moments of quiet,
Of the hope that rises even when shadows press close.

I rise and walk,
The dew damp on my shoes,
And the night unfolds around me like a story waiting to be read.
Each step is a line,
Each breath a stanza,
Each glance a verse in the poem of living.

And though the moon may whisper and fade,
Though stars will blink out with the coming light,
The echoes remain—
In the river, in the trees, in the wind,
In the quiet corners of the heart
Where dreams refuse to die.

I walk beneath the night,
Carrying fragments of sky and earth,
Of rivers and laughter, of love and loss,
And I understand:
Even in wandering, there is belonging,
Even in silence, there is a song,
Even in darkness, the world is alive.