Wordless Peace
The river moves but never dies,
It carries all it cannot keep.
Beneath its glass, the silence lies,
A cradle where the old dreams sleep.
I watch it wind through stone and silt,
A silver ribbon pulled by time.
It bears the weight of love and guilt,
And every joy we failed to climb.
I see my face in trembling glass,
A thousand selves the waters hold.
I see the lives I let slip past,
The words unsaid, the hands left cold.
The river whispers soft and low,
It tells of storms it once endured.
It tells me there is room to grow,
That broken paths can be assured.
It teaches me to yield, not break,
To carry scars but still move on.
To weave the heartache and the ache
Into the light of every dawn.
It remembers what we forget:
The way the smallest stones can steer,
The way we carry quiet debt,
The weight of every vanished year.
And as it bends and drifts away,
I learn the art of soft release.
The river takes, the river stays,
And leaves behind a wordless peace.
Copyright © Vohn Redulla | Year Posted 2025
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