In labyrinthine longing,
where my weary spirit
roams,
I seek an effervescent
haven to call my home.
A luminescent refuge where
the anxious heart finds rest,
Where benediction
whisper and the soul is truly
blessed.
Amidst the cacophonous
clamor of this transient
world,
Your peace, oh Lord, is an
opalescent banner unfurled.
A paradisiacal sanctuary,
inviolable and true,
Where tribulations dissipate
in the cerulean blue.
So let me be transfigured in
this hallowed, holy place,
A resplendent
convalescence wrapped in,
Your abounding grace.
gold leaves linger low,
purple drifting from the branch~
soft warmth in the air.
the tree keeps its quiet grace,
letting stillness paint the day.
The radio towers died at noon, the screens went blank and cold,
And static ceased to whisper of the empires bought and sold.
Down in the deep concrete redoubts, where millions gasped for air,
The ordinary citizens were stripped of their despair.
But in its place came something vast, a terrible, clean weight—
The absolute, unyielding hush that settled at the gate.
For thirty days no leader spoke, no siren pierced the dark,
The automated generators left a silent spark.
Men stared into their calloused hands, unable to recall
The frantic noise that used to drive their backs against the wall.
The silence was a physical thing, a pressure in the ear,
That forced the crowded bunker-rooms to face their oldest fear.
Yet by the third long, wordless week, the madness turned to rest,
As heartbeat matched to heartbeat in the quiet of the chest.
They learned to read the shifts of light, the breathing of the crowd,
And found a stranger, softer tongue where nothing was allowed.
Before the silver wood reached down to claim the planet's lease,
The bunker citizens survived the suffocating peace.
The last of the daylight
s l i d e s across the riverbank
in
its
own
time,
not hurried,
just moving the way light does
when the day is almost done.
Light d r i f t s
across
the water,
thinning
at the edges,
a leftover brightness
finding its place without ceremony.
Reeds b a r e l y move~
a
small
shift
in the air
suggests something passing through~
not a thought exactly,
more like the pause before one forms.
For a moment,
the world holds s t i l l,
not perfected
or polished,
just resting
in whatever shape
it happened to take today.
stillness turns wheel feel, peel
past present future surreal zeal
pure expressions cure inner furore
softly breath stitches rare rhymes
creating cosmic garlands with lyrics
emotions eclectic ebbs and flows
awaken daring dreams deific glows
fire earth water stanzas know
etheric words mirror reflective slivers
____________________________
Allpoetry SILVER WINNER Poem:
5 words in 9 lines : August 26
The great wild sea roars,
High waves crashing far away,
Stillness on the rocks.
A heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I Am that dwelling in unbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation"
Before a single name was given to the dark,
before time learned to count the stars,
a quiet held the void.
Not empty—just waiting.
Then something shifted in the cold—
a sudden warmth, a pulse,
not made of flesh or bone,
but humming like quiet lightning.
I am not the cage that holds my ribs,
nor the dust beneath my feet.
I slip past every fence we build out of fear,
spilling over the edges of what is known.
I sit inside the stillness,
unmoved by the rush of hours.
There is a stillness here that drinks from joy,
a deep, steady burning that never goes out.
From this stillness, everything begins:
the breath that moves the leaves,
the fire in the core of the earth,
the thought that becomes a world.
I am the hand that holds it all,
and the space where it floats freely.
I sit near my gate
The dusk wind bends the tall grass
My old shoes touch dirt
Let the gaze fold, softly shut,
a moment held—
a slow tide of breath that enters and leaves.
Within you, gently,
not demanding or rushed,
who is left there to judge?
For in this stillness the past can hold no claim.
Is it your imagination,
or the drift of fallen leaves
like papery whispers outside the door?
They gather, dry and scattered,
smelling of dust and worry—
magnetic forms of the lower mind.
You have been here before,
cloaked in yesterday’s echoes,
ruminating on the creases of time
carved like ancient riverbeds
onto an aging, fragile face.
Look out to the unveiled skies
and see the light moving across
without apology—
this endless flow where truth is found,
and the ego’s frantic season
is stripped away as illusion.
I stand at the edge of stillness,
a turquoise lake so calm it seems carved
from the breath between my thoughts.
the hills gather close, gentle silhouettes
holding the world in a loose embrace,
and the trees shimmer with
star-shaped leaves
that seem otherworldly
ahead, the moon lifts itself
like a golden clock face,
Roman numerals glowing faintly
as if time has chosen
to reveal its secret architecture.
its reflection drifts across the water,
a glowing ribbon of light
that stretches toward me~
not as a path,
but as a question
my heart already knows
but cannot answer.
in this place,
the hills, the star-leafed trees,
the turquoise stillness,
and the clock-moon
all seem to agree
that time is gentler
than we remember~
a soft turning,
a luminous pause
held in the hands of water.
Words do not always need to be loud;
they can be quiet,
kept hidden behind the outburst of a closing door,
or the hasty shutting of a window,
or the abrupt pulling away of a chair:
all of which can be called silence.
It has its own comfort zone,
at least for me now,
filled with the lingering air,
as though the air were scented with the perfumes of Arabia,
which could never sweeten Lady Macbeth’s little hand;
yet the perfume was not silent;
it carried loudness within.
Karma returns in silence.
Although the path toward heaven or hell
never remains unheard,
it is a long, hard road until the last dawn.
It is only me, myself, and my karma,
bearing every other entity within me
and negotiating with them
through my only companion: Silence.
I need to be heard in silence,
need to be nurtured in quietness,
need to perform without being noticed,
need to remain steady in my stillness.
I wish to be trapped in silence;
it might be a celestial trap,
where the trap itself is worshipped,
because it is a religion.
Here there is no time
All is instantaneous in love
ETERNAL
Here there is no anxiety
All is blessedness and peace
UNCHANGING
Here there is no need
All is thanksgiving and fullness
STILL
This is your heritage
You were created here
Although born there
Within the error of generations
Generated through error
Find your way back here
Stay here within
THE MOTION OF LOVE
It will carry and keep you here
You have returned to your Father
Emptied and refilled with God
Liberated from error’s Dis-grace
Surrenderd into Divine Love and Grace
Living death
Never to feel
Owner
of your breath
Never to feel
Owner
of your movements
Surviving in a life
Not belonging to you
Surviving as a slave
Craving to be free
A life closed
Never to use
Your talent
Closed to
Your energy
A mind made into a wasteland
By the evil work of a human hand
Unsurmountable obstacles in front
Imponderable mountain behind
Endless wait
Useless time
Chinese wisdom says
OBSTRUCTION
WAIT IN STILLNESS
“Teach me not to care
Teach me to be still”
When I grow silent enough
the Word becomes
a shoreline of peace.
Verses drift through me
like light on water,
shimmering without effort.
*In Him we live and move
and something in me
finally remembers how to breathe.
*passage from Acts 17:28
While mowing my fields, brief thought came to light;
I grasped that the wind was quitting the fight.
Noting the clouds gave attention with fear...
to move indoors was absolutely clear.
The still before the storm, just enough time
for safety, an epiphany sublime.
When the warning turns to watch, best take care;
radar maps are a forecaster's nightmare.
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