The Shaman's Whisper
Beneath the veil of the twilight's hue,
Where moonlight dances on the morning dew,
The shaman walks a path unseen,
A bridge between worlds, a mystic serene.
Feathers crowned and painted face,
A spirit guide in sacred space.
With whispered chants and a steady drum,
They call to the spirits; the answers come.
An owl’s wing, a serpent’s hiss,
A realm of shadows, a world of bliss.
Through smoke and fire, through earth and air,
The shaman's soul travels everywhere.
Guardian of stories, keeper of time,
Healer of wounds, through rhythm and rhyme.
The forest speaks, the rivers sing,
The shaman knows the life in all things.
With roots as ancient as the ground they tread,
They honor the living and speak to the dead.
The pulse of the earth beats within their hand,
Wisdom flowing like grains of sand.
So listen close to the drum's deep cry,
To the winds that echo and touch the sky.
The shaman’s path is a sacred art,
A dance of the spirit, a song of the heart.
- K.F
