Hidden
A poem . . .
You walk in shadows of non-rooted trees
You are seldomly spectated
And carry unheard melody
The quickness, surging, and shaking of leaves
Are observed by many
But can allow the forest to not see
And not hear anything
In your brier, thorn, dark unseen
More than you know is budding
Roots of discernment are forming
Wide knowledge is obtaining
With hefty price tag, deep empathy is producing
Palm tree trunk is setting
To weather any storm
Branches of oaks grow
For righteousness to effortlessly flow
The cypress and myrtle project
To not overshadow but protect
This takes clocks, many of them
But in due season, you will be un hidden
And even if not, you will still praise Him
In the unseen
Is the best place to be
So, you will actually hear and see
Scripture Inspiration: Isaiah 55 Some encouragement and prayer . . .
Thoughts?
I would love to know how this poem spoke to you. Feel free to comment. Blessings beautiful ones 🖤
*Photo Recognition is by Sander Mathlener on Unsplah. Thank you!
This feels like a benediction for hidden seasons. I love how you let the unseen do the real work here—roots forming, discernment growing, empathy costing something—while the “noise” of shaking leaves fades into the background. The line “More than you know is budding” stayed with me. There’s a deep freedom in how you release the outcome at the end… to be unhidden, or not, and still praise Him. Quiet, patient, and true. Thank you for this.
This really spoke to me, Ashley, especially the way you honor the hidden seasons without trying to rush them. There’s a quiet reassurance here that growth doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it happens beneath the surface, where roots deepen before anything visible appears. That feels both comforting and deeply true.
The line about “the hefty price tag” of empathy stood out too. Discernment, compassion, spiritual depth; they rarely come cheaply. They’re often formed in places where we feel unseen, misunderstood, or even overlooked. Yet those very spaces seem to shape the capacity to truly see others later. That’s a sacred exchange, even when it hurts.
I also appreciated the ecological imagery, palm resilience, oak righteousness, and cypress protection. It suggests that maturity isn’t one-dimensional. God seems to cultivate multiple strengths at once: endurance, stability, sheltering presence. That reflects Isaiah 55 beautifully, a transformation that ultimately points back to His faithfulness rather than our striving.
And to your implicit question about how it landed: it reminded me that hiddenness isn’t absence, it’s often preparation. Whether or not the “unhidden” moment comes publicly, the intimacy formed with God in those quiet places is already a kind of fulfillment.
Thank you for sharing something so honest and reflective. It feels like both a poem and a gentle spiritual companion.
Blessings,
Ze Selassie