Categories
Life

A Quiet

There is a quiet, here.

My husband is away, so it’s just me and our sleeping children beneath this roof. In this room, it’s just me and my heart quietly whispering away. What is she saying? I’m not entirely sure.

She’s telling me I worry too much.

That I should remember the wind and her sweet softness. How peacefully she blows, without a thought, without a care or question.

She’s telling me she sees me. That even though, sometimes, life’s tenderness swells to the point of overflowing…I’ll always be okay. My tears could fill an ocean some days. After they fall, though, everything seems a little brighter than it did before, and a little softer, perhaps.

I do like the softness very much.

It feels like peace, it feels like calm, it feels like love.

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Categories
Life

Peace

Peace.

It’s soft and it’s cool.

It’s free and it’s flowing.

And quiet. (Good heavens it’s quiet. I close my eyes for that one. Truly. I close my eyes.)

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Peace.

It lives in the candle beside me; within this flame, still and perfect.

I drink tea alone—peace lives there.

And the wind, swaying green beyond the window: it stops me as I wander.

It brings me home.

Peace is the language that brings me home.

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Peace.

It is such a beautiful thing.

And it’s funny. How long it has taken me to see its worth.

That I’ve been looking for it. That, always, it’s been mine.

If only I’d known that I needed it.

I needed it.

Peace. I need it, still.

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Categories
Poetry

The Lonely Soul

The lonely soul

is a beauty.

She is quiet,

so quiet

as she whispers her way

through the noise,

through the dark,

through the rain.

Sing a sweet song to her.

Call to her

and she shall hand you

a soft and thoughtful dream.

Categories
Poetry

Soft and Quiet

The time for soft and quiet has come.

Rest.

Lay down the bones of sorrows past.

Yesterday is a hush,

no longer ringing her angry bell.

She knows it true.

The time for soft

and quiet

has come.

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Categories
Poetry

Sweet and Quiet

The sweet and quiet of life is where my soul belongs.

The essence of a strawberry.

The taste of the softest kiss beneath a swaying tree.

It is not all that I am, this sweet and quiet that calls me.

But it is my favourite place to be.

My favourite aspect of everything.

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Categories
Poetry

This Place of Quiet

I am here in the quiet, knowing I am home.

I am the same, in this place, as the windy trees

and the sunset that melts across the bay.

This quiet.

It is the porcelain wail of a newborn child, it is the aching

of a freshly broken heart.

I know it well.

I know this place of quiet so well.

elderly man sitting on bench in park during autumn day
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