Tag: hope
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What Stays
The house didn’t fallwhen they left.The kettle still boils,the dog still waitsfor your voice in the morning. Time to forgetthe way you bent to fitwhat was never built for you. The sky hasn’t stoppedits slow turning.Magpies still sing.You breathe.Something holds. This isn’t the end.It never is.The right onewon’t ask you to shrink.What stayswill staywithout being…
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Daisy
It had no rightto be growing there—in the cracked seambetween the house and the path,where runoff pooledand the dog pissedand nothing green should last. But there it was.One daisy.Tilting toward the heatlike it believedin something. Not bloomingexactly,just holding on,a yellow eyein a worldthat never looked back. I could’ve crushed iton the way to the bin.I…
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After the Rain
some daysgetting up is enough.feet on cold tiles,kettle humming,a clean shirt pulled over last night’s ache. you don’t have to shine.not today.just breathe.just be. let the storm pass without explanation.let the sky rinse itself clean. there’s no deadlinefor feeling okay,only weather,moving through. and when it does,when the clouds crack openand a thread of light finds…
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Still Here
Some daysthe light forgets your name.Doesn’t meanit’s gone for good. Even the suntakes timeto climb the sky. You don’t have to rise fast.You don’t have to smile.You just have to stay,breathe once,then once again. There’s no prizefor pretending.But there is gracein holding onwhen everything says let go. You are still here.And that means:you are strong…
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You Are Enough
Not the loudest,not the first to arriveor last to leave.You are the steady warmthbetween seasons,the breath that doesn’t need to be noticedto keep the body whole. You are the chair pulled close,the cup filled without asking,the hand that doesn’t flinch. You carry no banners.You don’t demand. And still,you hold up the skyfor someone. That is…
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Shaping a Poem
It’s a quiet thing, a word foundin the stillness of dawnwhile dreamers slumberand the new moon succumbsto day. A fading thought,soft intake of breathin the long pause between sleep and wake.Sometimes it’s hopeenduring wildfire, flood,or the dusts of time.Maybe dinosaur bones,a lost tomb, or scarecrowsguarding lavender fields. Perhaps a dew-drizzledcobweb, a jonquil, cloudor song. Most…
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Daughter of the Plains
Ochre soaked skies, sunrise woke her – blue grass seas lilt behind stained glass at dawn. On morning’s grace she’s borne. Ryan Stone
