*Poetic Arbors*

[In'tro — spoken or softly sung] There is a place where words grow leaves, where silence learns to breathe in green. Come in gently. The trees remember everything. [Verse 1] I found a path where the moonlight bends, through cathedral limbs and whispering ends, where every branch held a borrowed star, and the night played strings on a blue guitar. The wind was writing in cursive vines, old love letters between the pines, and I stood still as my shadow knew there were poems in the roots I never outgrew. [Pre-Chorus] Oh, let the heart be tender wood, weathered, wounded, still called good. Let every scar become a ring, let every ache remember spring. [Chorus] Take me down to the poetic arbors, where the broken songs turn into flowers, where the soul can lean on something older, and the rain comes soft on the shoulder. Lay my name in the moss and marble, let my dreams climb sweet and partial, I am not lost, I am becoming— a living poem under something. [Verse 2] There were lanterns made of fireflies, small golden prayers with wings for eyes, and every tear I had carried there turned into dew in the morning air. I heard my younger self call through the leaves, saying, “Keep the wonder, but learn to grieve.” So I kissed the bark of a patient tree, and forgave the years for shaping me. [Pre-Chorus] Oh, let the heart be tender wood, weathered, wounded, still called good. Let every scar become a ring, let every ache remember spring. [Chorus] Take me down to the poetic arbors, where the broken songs turn into flowers, where the soul can lean on something older, and the rain comes soft on the shoulder. Lay my name in the moss and marble, let my dreams climb sweet and partial, I am not lost, I am becoming— a living poem under something. [Bridge — build slowly] If I must fall, let me fall like petals. If I must burn, let me burn like dawn. If I must lose what I thought was forever, let the roots teach me how to go on. For every goodbye is a gate of branches, every silence, a seed below. We are all just weathered verses looking for a place to grow. [Final Chorus — fuller, lifted] Take me down to the poetic arbors, where mercy moves through ancient flowers, where the dark is not an ending, but a sky the trees are mending. Raise my voice with the birds and sparrows, shoot my hope like green through arrows, I am not lost, I am becoming— a living poem under something. [Outro — soft refrain] There is a place where words grow leaves, where silence learns to breathe in green. Come in gently. The trees remember everything.