The Violet Between Footsteps
Do not ask the dark
to explain itself.
It learned patience
from stone
and mercy
from rain.
The moon keeps no crown.
It watches.
It remains.
Your ancestors moved this way—
light enough
to leave breath,
heavy enough
to leave truth.
They protected
by standing nearby,
Not in front.
They endured
by becoming quiet
When the world shouted.
Listen.
The ground knows your name.
What follows you
is not shadow,
but lineage.
The Violet Between Footsteps
Do not ask the dark
to explain itself.
It learned patience
from stone
and mercy
from rain.
The moon keeps no crown.
It watches.
It remains.
Your ancestors moved this way—
light enough
to leave breath,
heavy enough
to leave truth.
They protected
by standing nearby,
Not in front.
They endured
by becoming quiet
When the world shouted.
Listen.
The ground knows your name.
What follows you
is not shadow,
but lineage.
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