When the soul rises and falls

There are days the soul climbs with fire,
Lifting stones from forgotten fields,
The hand becomes a living wire,
And even fate begins to yield.

The wind responds to every word,
Dreams move clearly through the light,
The world, for once, feels undisturbed,
And every shadow leans toward right.

But then, the evening brings a weight,
Too much for bones, too sharp for tears,
A quiet shaped by something great,
That echoes through the passing years.

The heart, a cup, begins to spill,
Its silence louder than the rain,
And night climbs up the far-off hill,
To wear the face of nameless pain.

Yet both the fire and the fall,
Are steps along the spiral path,
Through joy and grief, through rise and crawl,
The soul still grows, beyond the wrath.

For stars are born in darkest skies,
And roses push through solid stone,
Though time may twist, stall, or lie,
The soul moves on, alone, alone.