The Animus

​A man of wind and stone,

in the garden of your soul,

weaves the map of the mountain range known,

that in your dreams you'll patrol.

He's the compass in the tempest's roar,

the lightning bolt that tears the veil,

the spark that on your mind's shore

plants a lighthouse against any gale.

​If you chain him in the cavern's gloom,

he becomes a muffled cry, a sharp thorn,

an echoing voice that in your heart's room

murmurs the wound of a loneliness reborn.

But if you offer him a bridge of silk,

fashioned from your own light, your core's grace,

he walks beside you, like flowing milk,

giving way to a new, vibrant space.

​For in the dance of Animus and the feminine spirit,

the purest melody is found,

where a mighty oak's strength you inherit

with the tender flower that breaks ground.

Listen to his rhythm, his pulse, his sweet song,

and you'll see how in your voice a new truth takes hold,

a poem of strength, where you truly belong,

the harmony of your duality, brave and bold.