Path of Return

Veins of leaf become a map,

Footprints stitched in roots and sap.

Stone to stone, the river bends,

Carrying all our unlived ends.

Lantern-seeds along the trail,

Glow where vows refuse to fail.

Wind recites the names we earned—

Guiding us to what we’ve learned.

Follow breath, follow ground;

When you’re lost, listen down.

This is the path of return—

Not a line, but rings that turn.

Round the wound till bark is new,

Walk until the ground knows you.

This is the path of return—

Dust to mouth and light to urn.

Hand in hand through ash and rain,

Home is work, and work is grain.

Bridges broken, cities thin,

Silence lets the green begin.

Carry water, share the weight,

Open gates we once called fate.

Every mile, a softer spine,

Every breath, a grafted time.

We are guided by the hum—

Roots that say, “You’re almost home.”

Follow breath, follow ground;

When you’re lost, listen down.

This is the path of return—

Not a line, but rings that turn.

Round the wound till bark is new,

Walk until the ground knows you.

This is the path of return—

Dust to mouth and light to urn.

Hand in hand through ash and rain,

Home is work, and work is grain.

If the way divides in two,

Close your eyes—the soil is true.

Count the heartbeats; feel the pull—

Every root is merciful.

This is the path of return—

Where the buried bright will burn.

Lay your sorrow, take your share;

Find your name in open air.

This is the path of return—

Step by step, the rings confer:

Not the place we left behind—

But the life we choose to bind.