Song of the Hearth
The earth listens
when hearts are quiet.
Smoke rises like memory,
carrying the names of those
who spoke before words were born.
We do not pray with sound—
only with breath,
only with the steady pulse
of life passing through our hands.
In the warmth between silences,
the old stories wake,
and the fire teaches again
How love is the first light
that ever learned to speak.
Song of the Hearth
The earth listens
when hearts are quiet.
Smoke rises like memory,
carrying the names of those
who spoke before words were born.
We do not pray with sound—
only with breath,
only with the steady pulse
of life passing through our hands.
In the warmth between silences,
the old stories wake,
and the fire teaches again
How love is the first light
that ever learned to speak.
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