Guided Good Guide
A poem
To the whisper of a breeze,
a pathway found its way through morning mists,
where valleys met the horizon’s edge.
Gentle inclinations stirred the air
with whispers of forgotten wisdom.
A trail of light wove through the fabric of time,
touching each leaf with the grace of knowing.
Twilight’s glow held hands with the dawn,
casting shadows of promises kept,
and footsteps echoed in the silence,
marking the dance of destiny’s weave.
Crystalline rivers carried reflections
of skies untouched by cloud,
where echoes of laughter intertwined with the wind.
Wisdom cradled the mountains,
as notes of truth rippled through the air,
each one a reminder of the journeys shared,
of stories etched in stone and bark.
The good guide knows the way,
not by maps or signs,
but by the rhythm of the earth’s pulse,
by the heartbeat of the stars.
Moments lingered in the space between breaths,
where thoughts and dreams converged,
forming the tapestry of life.
Guided hands traced the lines of fate,
weaving them into a fabric strong enough
to hold the weight of the world’s desires.
And as the sun dipped below the edge of sight,
the guide led the way with steps of certainty,
through fields of endless possibility,
where hope blooms eternal
and the night sings the song of beginnings.
In the quiet embrace of twilight’s promise,
we find ourselves not lost,
but ever guided,
by the good guide’s steady hand,
toward the dawn of all that is yet to come.
