Quiescence
The act of healing,
this work of repair,
this mending—
does not vanish into completion.
It does not end in wholeness,
nor conclude in perfection.
It ends in stability.
It settles like stone into balance,
into a ground that holds.
And from that bedrock,
a breath of light drifts forward.
Something quieter begins to move;
a softer current stirs,
as though the tide begins to turn.
Not desire, nor echo;
not need, nor longing;
not hunger, nor ache,
nor plea—
but the shimmer of essence,
the quiet weight of presence,
the stillness of being.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
