III. The Chamber of Roots

Beneath the soil, the chamber breathes,

a silent choir of buried leaves.

Roots entwine like hidden hands,

veins of shadow beneath the land.

They keep the stories the branches hide,

scars of the storm, the rain’s divide.

They drink the dark, they hold the deep,

they guard the truths the daylight keeps.

I press my palm against the ground,

and hear a heartbeat, low, profound.

It tells me this: what’s out of sight

still feeds the flame, still births the light.

We are not only what appears,

but seeds and silence, grief and years.

The hidden self, the veiled, the true,

the roots of me that still break through.

And when I rise, I know their song:

what lies beneath makes the living strong.