The Tunnel of Becoming
She walks alone, but not in fear,
Each step dissolves what once was near.
The walls are whispers, time-worn deep,
Of dreams that stirred while souls did sleep.
Isn’t it the way—from within, into becoming?
Isn’t it what a bud feels before blooming?
Isn’t it the story of nature in making—
A stillness before the miracle’s waking?
Light calls gently at the end—
Not as a finish, but as a friend.
A thousand selves she’s shed behind,
To meet the truth she’s yet to find.
For journeys start where endings glow,
And what we leave is what we grow.
She isn’t lost—she’s being made,
In shadows walked and light obeyed.
