Tenderly returning to the scene
of an event turned upside down by catastrophe.
Gingerly walking through the wayward chairs
abandoned with haste.
Walking over broken glass
and spilled drinks.
Seeing food meant to impress and delight
shriveled in waste.
Decorations for a joyous occasion
now torn and crumbling.
Memories of a joy anticipated,
turned into an anxiety realized.

Create the space, and it will find you.
Stop your running and just stand still.
Then, you will notice the gentle mist encircling you,
Illuminated by the sun and shining like a sea of stars around you.
It's not something to be sought, for it is there all the time.
Just waiting for you,
To slow down, and be found.

The voice of my soul is soft and quiet,
Undemanding and reserved.
All-wise and all-knowing,
but also all-deferring.

She sits in patient silence,
waiting upon me,
as I skirt to and fro
clashing and clanging through life.

The voice of my soul is gentle,
forgiving, and unjudgemental.
She knows what's best, but does not boast,
instead, hoping I'll choose right.

The voice of my soul is sometimes sad,
when I ignore her again and again.
Not despondent, but denied
I push past the tears I see in her eyes.

The voice of my soul grows sometimes louder,
when she has given me plenty of time.
When she sees me wearing thin,
and sees unrelenting warning signs.

The voice of my soul is the voice of a friend:
Compassionate and caring.
She loves me still, despite my flaws
and constant neglect shown toward her.

I can learn a lot from the voice of my soul,
how to be calm and patient and caring.
She has so much to offer, so much to share,
Just waiting for the chance to begin.

And so, on this day, I'm pleased to proclaim
A change in patterns henceforth.
In gratitude, I humbly aquiest
to all spoken
by the voice of my soul.