The beast is out, the cage undone,
yet walks where petals greet the sun.
A warrior now, in gardens deep,
where wounded roots remember sleep.
He does not roar to prove his flame,
the garden already knows his name.
The flowers need no thunder’s cry
to know what storms have passed them by.
They feel the power in his breath,
the mercy born from dancing death.
His silence is no sign of fear,
it is a sleeping blade held near.
The beast is free, but now he knows
not every freedom breaks or throws.
True strength does not escape its chain
to turn the world to ash and pain.
It walks barefoot where soft things grow,
and guards the blooms the winds still know.
He breathes so every flower sees
that power too can bend its knees.
His hands remember war’s old art,
but soil is teaching him the heart.
No chains to wear.
No throne to claim.
No roar required.
No crown.
No fame.
Just peace at rest,
a heart awake,
and sacred force
that will not break
the fragile life
it came to keep,
the garden’s dream,
the blooming deep.
—Terod Naej🔥
The road outside the cage is ugly.
But it’s honest.
The beast is out…
That poem hits hard, brother