The wind blows soft—a hushed, unseen whisper,
Along the path, its voice flows ever onward.
It speaks of pasts long buried,
And futures not yet born.
In silence, we begin to hear it clearly—
Truths once forgotten,
Left behind in the noise of the world.
We walk toward a fate uncertain,
Burdened by dreams too bold to name.
Along cool shores, waves kiss our feet—
And still we wonder: what are we meant to know?
The mind races—faster, faster—
Grasping at truths we’ve been forced to accept.
On the road, we glimpse
Wandering souls caught in the current.
We look to the sky—
But what do we truly see?
Mysteries veiled in the mundane,
Secrets kept from those who take,
But never sow.
When do we know?
At journey’s end,
When the veils are lifted,
And all illusion fades—
We see it, finally:
The right to be free
Was always ours to claim.
SimonB writes 