Roots anchor deep beneath the shifting soil,
an unseen hold against the winds of time.
The mountains stand still,
but their shadows stretch and shrink with the sun.
Promises carved into stone
outlast the breath that spoke them.
The ocean returns to itself,
tide after tide, forgetting nothing.
In the endless loop of seasons,
leaves fall, yet trees remain.
We chase permanence,
like children catching smoke in their hands.
Yet some things linger,
their weight pressing softly into eternity.
The stars, ancient and distant,
witness lifetimes without flinching.
Time bends and folds,
but the ache of love holds steady.
A handprint fossilized in wet cement,
the small act of staying.
The earth spins on,
carrying traces of everyone who ever was.
A photograph, yellowed and cracked,
holds a moment that refuses to fade.
Even ruins whisper of what once stood,
their silence as loud as memory.
Dreams deferred lie dormant,
seeds waiting for the right season.
The quiet resilience of roots unseen
outlasts the storms that try to break them.
What remains is not untouched,
but stronger for having endured.
The word "forever" whispered in hope,
remains, though the voice is gone.
Permanence lies in the unseen,
woven quietly into the fabric of all things.