Beneath Her Skin

Beneath the moss, where roots entwine,
lie hidden hopes, a spark divine.
Yet upward our life’s branches climb,
in rhythm with the pulse of time.

In her wild branches, hearts are held,
in ancient silence, her magic swells.

The silver leaves, desires untold,
like whispered dreams we dare to hold.
The choices made, the paths we tread,
are leaves that fall, but never dead.

Here the boundary blurs, it seems,
between our world and woven dreams.
In mystic glow, the tree stands tall,
a gateway to the stars’ soft call.

The dream, the dreamer, intertwined,
a story told in stars aligned.

She stands between the earth and sky,
her roots in magic, her soul in the sky.
The moonlight listens when she dreams,
and carries forth her quiet gleams.

Her touch is soft, like whispers of air,
that wake the forest and linger there.
And in her eyes, galaxies bloom,
a universe born in the quietest room.

She doesn’t belong to the earth, nor sky,
but somewhere between where the spirits fly.

And as she moves, she leaves no trace,
but the lingering whisper of twilight’s grace.
Of stars long forgotten and dreams profound,
where night’s silence meets the dawn’s quiet sound.

Though shadows mark the paths she’s known,
she blooms in ways that are her own.
Through winds of change, her strength unfolds,
in branches wild, your heart she holds.

And if you listen, you will see…
She weaves the stars, and sets them free.

Starlight flickers, casting glow,
on secret feelings we don’t show.
Embrace the wishes, dreams, and light,
for life’s a canvas, ever bright.

So let the leaves fall where they may,
they speak of seasons far away.
And in their whispers, soft and clear,
the heart will find what it holds dear.

Her soul sings softly in the wind,
with stars and sky beneath her skin.