Wildwood Rebirth

Some wounds do not disappear.
They become roots.

And somewhere beneath the silence,
life begins again.

There are forests
that remember who we were
before the world taught us to break.


     *   *   *

I woke in the moss
With mud on my knees,
The ash in my coat,
The cold in the trees.

A sparrow looked down
From a branch split in two,
Like it knew my name,
Like it had seen me through.

Then the wind turned kind,
And the dark unbound,
A small green spark
In the underground.

I rise, I rise -
Wildwood, take me in.
I rise, I rise -
Let the light begin.

I rise, I rise
From the root and stone.
I rise, I rise -
And I go home.
Go home.

The creek sang low
Through the ferns and clay.
I held my breath
As the night gave way.

A bee on the thyme,
A hymn in the air,
The broken old branch
Now flowering there.

Then the wind turned kind,
And the dark unbound,
A small green spark
In the underground.

I rise, I rise -
Wildwood, take me in.
I rise, I rise -
Let the light begin.

I rise, I rise
From the root and stone.
I rise, I rise -
And I go home.
Go home.

If I was lost,
Let the cedars know:
I followed the ache,
And I learned to grow.

From the split and scar,
From the fallen skin,
What was made to break
Can begin again.

I rise, I rise -
Wildwood, take me in.
I rise, I rise -
Let the light begin.

I rise, I rise
From the root and stone.
I rise, I rise —
And I go home.
Go home.

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https://disk.yandex.ru/d/4Jxd71e19vbs7A

Instrumental composition is via the link:

https://disk.yandex.ru/d/C5pp8yGN02fjpA

This song in Russian is via the link:

http://stihi.ru/2026/05/27/121