image from Sonia at pinterest.com
poem submitted to "1497" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, August 28, 2026
An envelope rests on the windowsill, its flap slightly lifted as though a breath passed through it. Inside, a small drift of cloud~ soft, unsettled, holding the shape of whatever message has not yet been read. Outside, the sky carries the same quiet weather: clouds moving with deliberate calm, as if they know their likeness has been folded and left waiting. I do not open the envelope. Some messages arrive only when the heart is still enough to hear them. So I let it rest~ a pale reminder that heaven speaks in small, unhurried ways. By evening, the cloud inside has thinned to a faint whisper, yet the window remains bright, as though the sky has leaned close to finish what it meant to say.
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.
