Banyan Thorns - The Soil Remembers Your Name

Bury me in the roots of oak, Where worms will carve my hymns in soil, Turn my bones to fertile smoke, Feed the flowers, feed the toil. Hands of loam, break down my song, Spirals turning, rot made strong, Moss-tongued prayers where the shadows meet, Ash becomes the bread we eat. The ground hums beneath me, Stone ribs arching, hollow nave of earth. Roots drag down the sky, Pulling stars into the dark. No priest, no book, no altar— Only spores rising with the incense of decay. I am the hymn rotting, And the silence that grows from it. Spiral down, spiral in, The marrow knows the way. Spiral down, spiral in, The lanterns dim, then fade. Spiral down, spiral in, The seed becomes the flame. Spiral down, spiral in, The soil remembers your name. She planted me an apple tree On the day my father died, Said, “When the blossoms fall, It’s the soil that’s still alive.” Now I walk among the gravestones, Picking fruit from the hands of ghosts, Every bite tastes sweet and bitter— It’s the ones we’ve lost I love the most. Spiral down, spiral in, The marrow knows the way. Spiral down, spiral in, The lanterns dim, then fade. Spiral down, spiral in, The seed becomes the flame. Spiral down, spiral in, The soil remembers your name. Close your eyes, child of the loam, The forest is waiting. Your breath is a lantern, It flickers… then it goes dark. Do not fear the silence, It is not empty. It is filled with every voice That has ever returned to the ground. Sleep now. The soil will remember. The rot will remember. And from you, Spring will rise. Spiral down, spiral in, The lanterns dim, then fade. Spiral down, spiral in, The soil remembers your name.