Love Bloomed in Sacred Still

She's not rising, she's remembering. Not moving, But being moved by everything that ever held Her. I don't need wings, I've learned to fall into Her gravity. She don't ask for proof, she holds truth like Ancient tapestry. Hands in soil, hips to stone. She don't chase, she's already home. When she walks, the ground believes again. When she breathes, The sky forgets its pain. She's the root, the buried flame. Not loud, but never tame. She don't bloom to be admired. She flowers to remember her name. Her love don't float, it grows through pain. Down below where souls remain. No escape, no flight, no fame. Only soil that knows her name. She's not soft, she's sacred. Not fragile, but ancient. A temple made of thunder, a pulse beneath the Clay. Hey, you think she waits, but she is Where the reason seasons stay. Not a question, not a quest. She's the answer in your chest. She's the echo in your spine, the rhythm roots Forgot to press. She knows the taste of every Leaving. Still she feeds what keeps believing. She don't reach, she receives. She don't break, she breathes. In the stillness Of her storm, The world remembers What it's for. She's the root, the sacred flame. Not to conquer, not to claim. She don't rise, she makes you fall into Truth that built it all. She's not the wind, not the fire, Not the dream. She's the earth where all those Dreams return to begin again. To begin again.