There is no need to be fearful
of the ‘not enough’.
Of the
too different to fit in,
to be chosen.
You are who you are,
and you will rise as you will rise.
Take care
and wander with head held high.
As you are.
To become
you
again
and again.
Beneath the surface,
gripped by the ripples
of life gone by.
It is a sad softness, and there are cold
lashes of fear, set into the marrow
of my bones.
Take this tender heart, I whisper.
To someone.
Somewhere.
I mourn
the turning of time.
Shall I clutch at the moment,
or the passing days gone by?
Or shall I be free
to stroll the fields, with you?
Free to know the wind
as an ever changing friend.
There is silence
where the gaps are.
Weeping holes
in a persons soul, for life,
or just,
perhaps,
for a little while.
There she was.
She had always been there
beneath the rubble of crumbling
life.
How sweetly the sun did shine
upon her remembrance.
It is the depths that call me here.
It is the silence
and the bells
of yesterdays wish.
Let there be now.
Let there be this walk alone
in the gentle woods.
I hold this fear in soft arms
and let her be.
She is a dear traveller.
She knows this village well.
Peace, dear friend.
We shall sit
and we shall be, without wishing
to change one another.
And I will quietly be
as I am.
Yes, I will quietly be.
I close my eyes, my foot on a chair.
Pots clang. Time flashes,
bright and loud.
Could there be just me and the stars?
Me and my hands on dry earth?
My heart glows at the thought.
And I run, and I run from the noise.
And I run and hold tight to the sweet,
sweet moments of quiet on a hill.
Exhaustion is the arrow to peace.
Peace is the home that waits for me
always.
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