Banyan Thorns - Roots Beneath The Hospice Bed

I sit beside your failing breath, Lantern dim, but not yet gone. Roots curl round the bed of death, Whispering, “Child, you’re not alone.” Hands of earth will hold you now, Soil will swallow every vow. Ash to ember, flesh to seed, Hollow Root provides your need. I laid my ear to the floorboards, Heard the roots beneath the bed, They were singing for your spirit, They were calling to the dead. I held your hand till the last light, Spoke the words you could not say, “Go where soil becomes the sunrise, Go where roots will show the way.” Breathe out, let go, The forest waits. The rot remembers. Close your eyes, Your body is already home. Spiral down, beloved one, The hollow root will guide you home. Your body is a hymn unsung, But the rot will turn it into loam. Do not fear the breaking bone, Do not fear the fading tone. Every silence feeds the ground, Every ending circles round. Breathe out, let go, The forest waits. The rot remembers. Close your eyes, Your body is already home. The root does not fear you. The soil does not judge you. The hollow spiral opens— Step inside.