Wanderer of Many Paths

She walks where the compass falters,
Lost in echoes, found in dreams.
The wind hums secrets through the cedars,
The stars reflect her silent schemes.

Her fingers trace the bowstring’s whisper,
A silver thread of fate unwound.
She steadies hands though shadows linger,
The arrow sings, but makes no sound.

She is a tempest brief, yet soft as rain,
A fractured heart, yet bound with gold.
Through tangled paths and vanished doorways,
A wanderer of stories untold.

Her hands weave whispers into form,
With strokes and clay, she mends the void.
She molds the earth with tender silence,
Turning sorrow into gold alloyed.

She bends like reeds but does not wither,
The storm may howl, but she will rise.
Though fear still walks beside her shadow,
She speaks her truth, defies the tides.

She is a tempest brief, yet soft as rain,
A fractured heart, yet bound with gold.
Through tangled paths and vanished doorways,
A wanderer of stories untold.

She sought the peace behind the mountains,
But war still traced her every step.
She lifts her bow, not out of fury,
But for the truth she won’t forget.

And though the stars may shift and wander,
She walks the road with weary grace.
For courage is not born from thunder,
But in the trembling hand that stays.

She walks her path, though lost and longing,
A wanderer who dares to stay.