The Whispering Forest Amidst the ancient trees, their gnarled roots clutching the earth, lies a forest forgotten by time. The air here is thick with secrets, and the leaves rustle in hushed tones, as if sharing forbidden knowledge. Shafts of sunlight pierce the dense canopy, illuminating patches of moss-covered ground. The moss, soft and yielding, cradles fallen leaves like a lover’s embrace. Each leaf, a relic of seasons past, bears the weight of countless storms and sunsets. The trunks of the trees are etched with scars – the memories of lightning strikes and the battles waged by woodpeckers. Their bark, rough and weathered, tells tales of endurance and survival. Sap oozes from wounds, sticky and sweet, a balm for the weary soul. In this forest, time moves differently. The minutes stretch into hours, and the hours dissolve into eternity. Shadows dance on the forest floor, weaving patterns that only the wind can decipher. The birds, their songs hauntingly beautiful, sing of love and loss, of birth and death. And then there are the whispers. Faint and elusive, they drift through the air like smoke. They speak of forgotten kingdoms, of ancient rituals performed under moonless skies. They tell of lovers who met at the edge of the world, their hands brushing against the fabric of reality. The forest breathes – a slow, deliberate inhale followed by an exhale that stirs the leaves. It inhales the sorrows of the world, the broken dreams and shattered promises. And with each exhale, it releases hope – fragile and delicate, like a spider’s silk. As night falls, the forest comes alive. Eyes glow in the darkness – the eyes of creatures unseen, guardians of this sacred place. They watch over the lost souls who wander here, their footsteps muffled by fallen pine needles. The souls seek solace, redemption, answers to questions they dare not voice. And so, the forest listens. It listens to the heartbeats of the wounded, the echoes of their pain. It listens to the stories etched into the bark, the whispered confessions carried by the wind. And in its silence, it offers sanctuary – a place where brokenness is mended, where the past and future merge into an eternal now. Note: This poem is a creation of my own, inspired by the mysterious and enchanting qualities of ancient forests. 🌲🌿 ©Slogantagsz.in