I felt a gentle breeze of you in a soft rest of a place
Repurposed all noise has settled in a perfect space
In a family of words where all pain striving stops,
Just the very thought of you, every pressure flops,
A cabin in the Mountains, Manoah, an empty bed,
All things are possible, you fit inside a chair is red
Nothing is demanded, ah, the simple life is sweet,
All the grains barley sway a gentle stack of wheat,
A face of calm she rests in us I can see you breathe
All my memories have arrived in a whisper weave
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 9:12 AM UTC
I felt a gentle breeze of you in a soft rest of a place
Repurposed all noise has settled in a perfect space
In a family of words where all pain striving stops,
Just the very thought of you, every pressure flops,
A cabin in the Mountains, Manoah, an empty bed,
All things are possible, you fit inside a chair is red
Nothing is demanded, ah, the simple life is sweet,
All the grains barley sway a gentle stack of wheat,
A face of calm she rests in us I can see you breathe
All my memories have arrived in a whisper weave
There are mornings when the (ment) in us seems to blow a cold breeze through a mountain window like a good kind of teasing that relaxes us with ease and plays a gentle melody in our minds that reminds us we are not alone in the empty of our spaces.
Request permission to use this poem