a fragile being,
struggles against unseen walls,
its journey carved in silence.
Hands reach out, eager to assist,
yet in the breaking of barriers,
the essence withers,
the wings, unmade,
never to unfurl.
The seed, a promise cradled in earth,
bursts with potential,
but patience knows no haste;
the bud must meet the light
on its own accord,
or else it fades,
longing for a bloom
that never breathes.
Awakening whispers linger,
but consciousness sleeps,
too tender for the tug,
too fragile for the nudge.
What is true must emerge
from the depths, unforced,
each heart its own compass,
navigating the dark
to find the radiant dawn within.
Some things dance in shadows,
and here, we learn to watch,
to hold space without grasping,
to honour the secret rhythms
written deep inside.
By Maggie Martin
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