Poem – Rooted Strength

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Rooted Strength

Beneath the restless grasses,
the roots go on weaving,
knitting a thousand filaments into the dark earth,
holding what the storms cannot take.

I think of the trees—
how they do not tremble with every passing wind,
but rise steady,
their trunks carrying both gravity and grace.
Even the smallest sapling
leans into the air as if it knows
the secret of endurance.

And I remember
that my own body is not so different:
bones are my stones,
muscles the braided vines,
breath the river that keeps it all alive.

So when the day wavers,
when the voices of doubt climb like ivy
toward the fragile places,
I press my feet into the soil,
curl my toes into the hum of the ground,
and lift my spine—
a green shoot among countless others,
quietly declaring,
I will not fall.

Strength, I learn,
is not the shout of conquest
but the steady pulse of belonging:
to the earth,
to the breath,
to the quiet hand resting on my heart,
saying only—
stay.

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