Ancient Seers on the Wind

We spring up from shadows into rocky gray fields great stones sliced in half by blades of wind outcroppings cradle creatures unable to thrive they carry homes in their heads nothing tangible or real we too dwell among ideas that echo through woods anemic cries of vulnerability and loss we clamor for a clear path forward past dens of despair that hold captive minds unwilling to be the self they must become like weeds they sprout in unlikely places sucking up nutrients and light transforming shadows into white watching gray fields of rock yield meadows dappled in wildflowers the way ahead made clear by ancient seers on the wind

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