I watched him near the tree-lined crest,
A heavy heart inside his chest.
I knew the question he would bring,
The ancient, blind, and searching thing.
He looked to me to clear the way,
To make the shadows bright as day.
But map or blade I could not give;
The deathly wood is where we live.
I recall when the woods called me,
The phantom fears I had to see.
My own dark path, my cruci-bell,
The years I spent inside that hell.
A sudden grief bleeds through my mind,
For all the traps he’s bound to find.
The bitter choice, the plain mistakes,
The fragile vows he’s sure to break.
Yet if I stretch a helping hand
To guide him through this broken land,
I rob his spirit of the fight,
And steal his dawn to save his night.
For gold is forged within the fire,
And trial builds the soul’s desire.
I watched him turn and step within,
To where the matching wars begin.
Stand tall, young soul, do not despair . . .
I cast my silent hope in prayer.
http://www.therememberings.com
© 2026 TheRememberings Ltd.