This five-poem cycle reflects on faith as an unseen but guiding presence in life. It uses the image of dandelion seeds carried by the wind to show surrender and trust in a divine path that cannot be fully seen or controlled. Faith is presented as a gift, not something earned or understood completely, but something that gently leads and sustains the soul.
The poems move through themes of release, uncertainty, and growth. They show how people are placed in situations they do not choose, yet can still grow within them through grace. Unseen winds and shifting ground become symbols of spiritual shaping. In the end, the cycle affirms that surrender leads not to loss, but to quiet transformation and blooming in grace.
The Gift of Faith
Life is a journey of faith,
a road I cannot fully see—
yet light arrives in scattered ways
like dawn breaking quietly.
Faith is not a thing I hold,
but a light I walk inside;
it finds me in my unknowing
and stays where I cannot hide.
I did not earn its fragile flame,
nor build it with my hands;
it comes like rain upon dry ground
that somehow understands.
And so I move where sight grows thin,
not because I understand—
but because something deeper calls
and gently takes my hand.
The Dandelion Released
A stem bends low beneath my hand,
small seeds trembling into air—
a thousand quiet letting-gos
unfolding everywhere.
Like this, my life is lifted free,
no longer bound to what I knew;
I break into the open wind
with nothing left to hold onto.
The air becomes a moving sea
I cannot name or map or see,
yet still it carries every part
of what I thought was me.
Released, I do not fall or break—
I scatter into something wide;
and in the losing of control
a deeper life arrives.
Winds I Cannot See
There are winds that pass through morning grass
without a sound, without a trace;
yet still they bend the smallest blade
as if it knows its place.
They move through rooms I cannot enter,
through thoughts I cannot understand;
yet somehow they arrive in me
like writing in the sand.
Sometimes they lift, sometimes they press,
sometimes they strip away my ground;
yet even in their shaking path
a hidden order is found.
So I will not resist their flow,
though I cannot see their name—
for even what I do not know
is never quite the same.
Where Seeds Fall
I do not choose the field I land,
or the soil that holds me fast;
I only find my roots begin
in places I would pass.
Some ground is cracked beneath the sun,
some shaded by unanswered pain;
yet even there, unseen, unseen,
something begins again.
A seed does not ask why it falls
into the silence of the earth—
it only learns the language of
becoming after birth.
So I will not reject the ground
where Your quiet will has led;
for even dust can hold the shape
of something not yet said.
To Bloom in Grace
And so I learn to simply be
what gentle winds have made of me—
not resisting every change,
but learning how to breathe.
The scattered seeds become a field
I never thought I’d recognize;
what felt like loss begins to turn
into a new sunrise.
For grace does not demand I rise
by strength I can declare;
it forms me slowly, leaf by leaf,
in places I was unaware.
And if I bloom, it will not be
by anything I’ve done alone—
but by the breath that moved through dust
and called me as its own.
Amen.
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