A thicket of summer grass
Is all that remains
Of dreams and ambitions
Of ancient warriors.

~ Basho

Nothing Left to Prove (A song by Pavolira)

There was a time for raising walls,
for louder outer rooms and sharper cords,
for wanting more than could be held,
for keeping score where pride had swelled.
We have walked through all of that
through the heavy and the flight,
through the wanting to be right
every night.

Chorus:

Now there is nothing left to prove,
no harder ground we have to move
no need to win, no need to bear,
no need to end.
Now there is nothing left to chase,
only a slower steadier place,
a wider breath beneath the trees
in the cold that freeze.

A forest stands without a claim.
It does not ask us for a name,
it does not measure what we were
or if we stir.
In an open stretch of air
a stag remains because it’s there,
not for glory, not for show,
just so.

Chorus:

Now there’s nothing left to fear,
nothing pressing from the year.
What we lost has lost its sting
like a ring.
Now there is nothing left to fight,
only the clean on our unite
and the ground beneath our feet,
firm and complete.
We once mistook the storm for truth,
mistook the breaking for the core
of something more.
But what endures without demand
needs no witness, needs no stand.
It does not shout; it does not shove.
It does not prove its love.

Chorus:

Now there is nothing left to prove,
only the quiet deeper groove where
what remains is not the flame
but still the same.
Now there is nothing left to win,
only the steady breath within
like winter trees that do not speak
yet do not weaken. 

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