The Vessel of Becoming
A poem attempting to express Whakaora's Essence
Upon the wind, four souls entwine,
In bonds unseen, with threads divine.
Each whisper soft, a growing flame,
In kindred hearts, no one the same.
With every word, a spark takes flight,
To chase the dark and birth the light.
Behold, the vessel taking form,
With hands and dreams through seas it’s borne,
Crafted not from stone or steel,
But hopes, and love, and will to heal.
The wood is strong, the sails are wide,
Yet only trust can guide the tide.
Seeding doorways yet to find,
In fertile soil of open mind.
For paths once barred, now glimmer near,
Unveiling worlds when hearts are clear.
From smallest seeds, great forests rise,
Beneath the vast and endless skies.
And thus, the soul finds strength anew,
Catalysed by dreams once few.
Capacity within unfolds,
Like ancient fire in hearthstone cold.
For growth is born of patience deep,
And tides shall rise where once they sleep.
