I set out barefoot on a path unmarked,
No compass to guide, no map to chart.
The terrain was jagged, raw, and wild,
Each step revealing a wound, a child.
The whispers of shortcuts called from the trees,
Promising ease with their fleeting pleas.
But I knew, deep down, the truth of the way—
No peace is born from what we betray.
I walked through storms that tore at my name,
Through shadows that whispered guilt and shame.
The echoes of faces, their love, their disdain,
Rose like ghosts, then fell like rain.
Each tear became a seed in the earth,
Each scar a testament to rebirth.
And slowly the path began to clear,
No longer led by anger or fear.
The heart does not heal with haste or deceit,
It beats to the rhythm of steps that repeat.
No skipping stones, no bridges to span—
Just the steady tread of a humbled man.
Now I stand where the horizon hums,
Where no weight lingers, no chaos drums.
I think of the faces that once burned bright,
And feel only hope in the softest light.
To walk the heart’s journey is to let go—
To till the soil, to watch it grow.
The other side is not glory or pride,
It’s the quiet knowing of peace inside.
0 Comments