WORDS

A young bird catches the wind,
Warm from the sun’s embrace,
A dance unchoreographed, yet perfect,
A soaring leap through endless space.

It stretches wings untested, bold,
Daring the skies to say no.
The horizon whispers promises,
Of lands it dreams to know.

A young lover fights a gale,
Hands trembling, heart alight,
Through torrents of the world's disdain,
They battle through the night.

Their feet slip on the rugged stone,
But love has steady might.
For what is wind against a soul,
Determined for what’s right?

A young shadow stands still,
Rooted as trees sway.
Unmoved by gusts that howl and wail,
It watches night chase day.

It clings to form in fleeting light,
A silhouette defined,
Yet whispers softly in the dark,
Of fears it left behind.

A young poet plays with words,
But only to tease the page,
To kindle embers into flame,
Or stir a hidden rage.

They gather stars and moonlit threads,
To weave a fleeting truth,
And let it linger just enough,
To haunt both sage and youth.

For winds may howl, and shadows drift,
And lovers lose their way,
But young hearts brave each tempest still,
To greet another day.
 
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