Many days have passed since I wrote something good
Maybe that's a sign of my inner world quieting down
Maybe in silence poetry has no place
When the wounds stop hurting and the heart stops weeping
There is nothing left to write about
Or at least not with the same urgency
No words that boil to be written
No feelings eating you alive
Just life filling your cup
Significant small things
Meaningful acts
Deep conversations
Home cooked meals
And cozy blankets
Have given me more peace
Than you ever could