Jerome Jefferson

12/22/2025

Once,
the wind carried our songs —
and the rivers knew our names.
We spoke to the fire,
and it answered with warmth,
not smoke.
Now the sky hums with iron wings,
and the ground trembles
beneath machines that do not pray.
But still—
a mother walks with the child of tomorrow
wrapped in the memory of yesterday.
She carries feathers and ashes,
hope and grief intertwined.
Every step she takes
is an old heartbeat
that refuses to die.
The earth remembers.
And so do we.
Once,
the wind carried our songs —
and the rivers knew our names.
We spoke to the fire,
and it answered with warmth,
not smoke.
Now the sky hums with iron wings,
and the ground trembles
beneath machines that do not pray.
But still—
a mother walks with the child of tomorrow
wrapped in the memory of yesterday.
She carries feathers and ashes,
hope and grief intertwined.
Every step she takes
is an old heartbeat
that refuses to die.
The earth remembers.
And so do we.

12/19/2025

“She Who Listens to the Deer”

Her hands rest upon gentleness,
and the deer listens, unafraid.
There are no boundaries here—
only the hush of trust,
the language of stillness.

Her robe carries the colors of sunrise,
her spirit the calm of dusk.
Between her heartbeat and the deer’s
flows the river of understanding:
that to love the world
is to hold it without harm.

12/14/2025

12/12/2025

pain endured,
in every scar that chose to stay.

Our ways are love in quiet hands,
a shared fire in the coldest night,
half a harvest, half a smile—
a hug instead of needless fight.

For strength is not the clash of war,
but what survives through loss and flame—
a steady gaze, a beating heart,
and love that will not break or change.