#stillness
The day I die,
the sycamores will finally loosen
their silver undersides
and stop rehearsing storms for my benefit.
The pond behind the hill
will unlatch its green enamel lid,
releasing every drowned reflection
it has hoarded for decades.
I imagine the afternoon
as a conservatory of pale glass,
sunlight decanting itself
across marble balustrades,
each beam a quiet custodian
sweeping dust from forgotten corners.
All my life,
I have carried a house inside my ribs.
Its corridors were crowded with clocks,
their brass mouths muttering
of overdue tomorrows.
Its windows collected weather.
Its cellar fermented grief
into dark vintages.
The day I die,
I will leave the keys upon the table.
The hinges may continue singing.
The rafters may remember my name.
Yet I will have stepped beyond
the architecture of wanting.
No more bargaining with dawn.
No more stitching together
the frayed hem of another difficult season.
I will become something simpler.
Perhaps a petal relinquished to a river.
Perhaps the last lantern
extinguished after a festival,
its smoke ascending
through the indigo vestibule of evening.
The moon will not mourn me.
She will merely polish
her pearl-white countenance
and continue drifting
through orchards of cloud.
The earth will carry on
with its exquisite occupations:
thrushes threading music
through the hedgerows,
rain annotating stone,
foxgloves lifting their violet chalices
toward the attentive sky.
And for the first time,
I will ask nothing of it.
Not mercy.
Not permanence.
Not explanation.
Only stillness.
Only the immaculate quiet
found beneath every wave,
beneath every root,
beneath every name we are given.
The day I die
may be the day I am happiest,
not because death is a kingdom,
nor because sorrow has triumphed,
but because every burden
will finally slip its moorings,
and I will drift,
light as thistledown,
through a silence so vast
it can no longer distinguish
between ending
and peace.
21h ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 8:51 PM UTC
For those who appear silent
Silence is power
Powerful enough to break barriers
Barring the way between self and higher self
Selfishly selfless in the pursuit of a deeper meaning
Meant to be inward
In the depth of you lies your control
Controlling as the times may seem
See yourself at peace
Peacefully piecing together the parts of you pushed apart by predetermined predicaments
Predicting a time of stillness
Still, within the silence lies your power.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 6:28 AM UTC
⭐THE UNPOLISHED SEASON — Poem X (final poem)
I woke up this morning
without the version of myself
that usually arrives first,
the one that straightens the spine,
clears the throat,
and rehearses the day
before the feet have even touched the floor.
Instead,
a quieter me showed up.
The one who doesn’t rush
to fill the room with meaning,
or adjust the mouth
to look like someone
worth quoting.
I drank the lukewarm coffee
without pretending it was a ritual.
I didn’t consult the mirror
to see if my face
was cooperating.
I didn’t arrange myself
into a person
who looks intentional.
The room didn’t object.
The dust stayed where it had clocked out.
The kettle sat cold on the counter,
unbothered.
Nothing in the house
asked for credentials.
Nothing required the shine.
The weight sat
in my shoulders,
my voice,
my breathing,
without needing to be translated
into a victory.
So I sat down
exactly as I was,
the posture uncorrected,
the mood unedited,
the story left blank.
And nothing collapsed.
The walls didn’t demand a better version.
The day moved forward
without an audience,
without applause.
I breathed in.
I breathed out.
It was entirely enough.
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 2:26 PM UTC
I have yet to see his darkness,
but I have seen perfect black before.
And looked away.
A hand withdrawn
remembers the burn,
seeds left untended
still carry spring.
Fear driven into silence,
faith into mistrust,
anger to hatred—
as love turns marble.
The stillness is a cure,
not meant to be carried alone.
It might hurt even more
but we need to face the depths
to pass the gates of change.
The return from strayed paths
is a long way to walk—
a lived homecoming
that’ll meet you in the end.
Faith remains an open door
that one may enter in truth,
scribbled notes of the heart
written into blank pages.
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 11:47 AM UTC
⭐THE UNPOLISHED SEASON — Poem IX
The kettle heated the water
to a temperature
that could only be described
as mildly disappointing,
then clicked itself off
with that small, decisive snap
modern plastic makes
when it’s done pretending to try.
It wasn’t broken.
It wasn’t struggling.
It simply looked at the task,
looked at the clock,
and decided,
with quiet professionalism:
Absolutely not.
I pressed the switch again.
It lit up for half a second,
flirting briefly
with the idea of heat,
then powered down
with the confidence
of a worker who knows
they won’t be fired.
A thin layer of dust
had settled on its lid –
the same workforce
that clocked out yesterday.
The kettle didn’t burn it off.
Didn’t even try.
It just sat there,
letting the matte finish stay.
For a moment,
I felt something
dangerously close to envy.
The kettle had stopped
mid‑assignment,
without apology,
without explanation,
without the slightest concern
for how it looked.
I poured the lukewarm water
over a tea bag
that never stood a chance,
and watched it settle
into a pale, undecided puddle.
The kettle stayed silent,
unbothered,
a small, plastic proof
that quitting halfway
is entirely legal.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 10:54 AM UTC
⭐THE UNPOLISHED SEASON — Poem VIII
The dust didn’t settle today.
It stayed suspended in the strip of light,
a slow, indifferent workforce
waiting for instructions
no one planned to give.
It didn’t sparkle.
It didn’t perform the poetic choreography
of a sunbeam in an old film.
It just drifted,
unmotivated,
barely committed to gravity.
When I walked past,
it didn’t scatter in a panic.
It shifted
with the enthusiasm
of an underpaid clerk
moving one folder to the left.
By afternoon,
the air ran out of momentum.
The workforce finally clocked out,
landing softly on the TV screen,
the bookshelf,
and the unwashed coffee mug from Tuesday.
It didn’t ask for a cloth.
It didn’t claim the room as a tragedy.
It just laid down a flat, grey matte finish
over everything I owned,
as if to remind me
that the world looks better
when it stops trying to shine.
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 1:35 AM UTC
Morning light fills the room, replacing human motion.
Daylight betrays itself, vanishing from my notion.
The dawn sun embraces, the oldest comrade.
The midday sun punishes, the greatest obstacle.
The sunrise begins before the haste.
The sunshine lasts even after the rattle.
No one walks; everyone sleeps.
Nothing moves; everything changes.
In the hush, glimmers hold their feast;
the orange blush capsizes the yellow beast.
The pale shimmer washes the wall;
birds announce nature’s call.
Doves gather at my window,
revering me as civilization’s widow.
They drift above the rooftops;
the overworld belongs to their fellows.
My soul grows wings beside theirs,
and I glide through the serene streets; they are my heirs.
― Atrona Grizel
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 11:31 AM UTC
And when we reach that state
where ******* leave us reeling,
we simply let ourselves
be carried along
by the inertia
of our bodies.
I in you,
or you in me
in a constant rhythm,
a drowsy stupor,
a sweet unease
for dawn is fast approaching.
You close my eyelids with your fingers
and tell me that soon we must continue our journey.
Smiling,
I take your hand in mine,
kiss your wrist,
and remind you:
this
right here, right now
this is the journey.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 8:58 PM UTC
⭐ THE UNPOLISHED SEASON — Poem II
The evening arrived
without ceremony –
no graying light
trying to soften the edges,
no sun giving up
in a poetic way.
Just a room
that didn’t care
whether the day
had finished anything.
The dishes waited
without accusation.
The chair held its shape
without offering comfort.
Even the air
seemed done pretending
it could help.
I sat in the half‑light,
letting the hours
fall where they wanted –
not searching for meaning,
not rehearsing calm,
just existing
in the quiet gravity
of an unfinished day.
Nothing transformed.
Nothing redeemed itself.
And maybe that’s the truth
I keep avoiding –
some days end
exactly as they lived:
unpolished,
unresolved,
unapologetically ordinary.
A small honesty
that doesn’t shine,
just sits.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 1:12 PM UTC
The room was already there
before I entered –
a soft geometry of dust
and unspoken hours.
Light leaned against the wall
as if it had been listening
for a long time.
Nothing moved,
yet everything felt mid‑sentence,
paused at the edge
of a thought I hadn’t had yet.
I walked across the floor
and the air shifted,
not welcoming,
not resisting –
simply adjusting
to the shape of me.
A chair waited in the corner,
patient as a question
that knows its answer
will arrive eventually.
I sat,
and the silence settled around me
like a coat I’d forgotten I owned.
Some rooms don’t ask for stories.
They hold space
until you remember
how to breathe again.
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 2:16 PM UTC
For a moment
the ground hesitated.
The air held him
not with kindness,
but with the quiet curiosity
of something
that rarely touches the living.
Then gravity
remembered his name.
They met again.
The ground took his weight.
For a second
even the air
seemed unwilling
to move.
He took the stillness.
Neither one explained
what passed between them.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:32 PM UTC
In harmony with the loving will of nature,
held in dreams within dreams.
Feet against the soft touch of lush grass,
woven together in a sunlit revelry—
shared in stillness, graced in time.
Floral circlets under the unyielding daylight,
meadow songs of rejoicing, hand in hand.
An enthralling gaze meets a gentle smile,
glowing with the quiet promise of my heart,
take my hand—and we flow into the dance.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 6:10 AM UTC
Two voices, one sanctuary – where stillness gathers and the heart steadies.
* * * * *
Introduction
These two poems unfold around the same quiet cabin set among trees, flowers, and open air. In “Breathing in Beauty,” Elizabeth writes from the garden behind the cabin, where color, scent, and stillness gather in a gentle embrace. In “Along the Lake’s Edge,” Adam walks the path leading from the cabin toward the water, following the line where forest and lake meet in evening calm. Together, the poems create a shared landscape of rest and renewal, each offering a different way of stepping into peace.
* * * * *
"Breathing in Beauty"
by Elizabeth Scott (Songbird0926)
The softest scents drift through the open window
calling my name,
longing for my company.
I step through the cabin's back door
and into a world of brilliant colors
blending together,
the light perfume of beauty
enveloping me in a gentle hug.
Watercolors for my soul
sway in the slight breeze,
turning their heads patiently
towards the sun
yet reaching arms towards me,
like small children wanting to be picked up.
I slowly breathe in the stillness around me,
thankful for the peace present here.
Sun, sky, flowers -
my heart steadies as I feel
the calm in the air
and see
colors touch the sky
with wonder,
giving me hope for a better tomorrow,
and I know
I'm finally home.
“Along the Lake’s Edge ”
by Adam Wójcicki (VerseBuster)
The cabin settles behind me
as I step into the hush of evening,
following the narrow trail
that winds between pine and water.
The lake lies open and unhurried,
a sheet of silver breathing
with the soft rise of wind.
Shore‑grass leans toward the ripples,
whispering in small, patient voices.
I walk slowly,
letting the quiet gather around my shoulders—
the scent of cedar,
the cool drift of air from the water,
the steady rhythm of my own steps
on the soft earth.
Branches tilt toward the fading light,
catching the last gold of the sun,
and the path curves gently
as if guiding me forward
without asking anything in return.
Here,
between forest and lake,
I feel the day loosen its grip.
The colors soften,
the world exhales,
and something inside me settles too,
a quiet knowing
that this place holds room for me.
And I walk on,
unhurried,
at peace,
carrying the calm of the cabin
into the deepening dusk.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 8:11 AM UTC
Butterfly poised on
uprooted tree leaf. Sunrise
dries damp wings, dense air.
Initial condition blown
here by the storm it creates.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Green cactus blooming,
The desert stares back at me,
Trees question the sky.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 11:57 PM UTC
A gentle breeze,
Like an open palm.
I lean into it,
Letting it caress me.
It dances through my hair,
Lifting and swaying
In the warm summer sun.
All is right in this moment.
Thoughts not so jumbled.
Peace attainable,
If only for a moment.
To sit and not only hear the stillness
But to feel it.
The breath that was forgotten
Comes back
Like a rushing wave.
Inhaling deeply.
Everything fades.
In that moment I am alive
I close my eyes
Letting it wash over me.
The feel of the earth
beneath my hands and feet.
Time stops and its ok.
The softness of the grass
Rocks me in a silent lullaby.
I am Alice and this is my wonderland.
The rustling leaves,
The singing birds.
A love affair,
Between my heart
And the place that I find myself.
If only I could stay forever.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Let these dark wings take flight skywards
while torn leaves slip the branches in the wind.
Trailing rain gathers in the mound beneath,
nocturnal moon in a silent climb on the canvas,
strokes of mist caught in a strophe of layers.
Forgiven hands against this glass ceiling,
bittersweet heartbeats—echoes of longing.
Decimated despair behind abiding eyes,
breathing gloom in the thick of the air,
devoted embrace under our dreaming skies.
Paint us eternal in a moment of stillness,
hollow spirits filled in color—
sorrowful blues, lonely green as our witness.
Darkness coils the scene, leaves behind nothing,
save for the light of you and I.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 4:43 PM UTC
sun claims my skin,
skeleton trees revive,
a kiss in the breeze,
songs of the young—
life finds a way
and I quietly agree
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 12:20 PM UTC
my heart is fading
in colorless shades
a stone
without edges
in the earth
waiting
for the world
to turn me around—
a new breath
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC
The chair keeps your shape
after you stand.
Dust settles
where your voice used to move.
The clock continues
without asking.
I stay—
like something
that forgot
how to fall away.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 2:37 PM UTC
—Do you feel that?
—Feel what?
—Feel the nothing,
the absence of life,
the absence of movement
and the lack of energy
that this air carries.
—How could I feel that?
—Breathe. Take a deep breath
and taste the fact
that the only air moving
is your breath.
Isn't it beautiful?
—It is.
—Isn't it great? Isn't it
the best you've ever tasted?
—It is.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 3:10 PM UTC
My feet stayed still upon the ground,
While shadows stretched, and silence drowned.
The world moved on, but I remained,
Caught in the ache of all I'd trained.
The winds were cruel, the night was cold,
But there’s no place I’d dare to fold.
For in the stillness, I could see,
The weight of all that wasn't free.
My feet stayed still, but heart would break,
For stillness was the price I’d take.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 5:15 AM UTC
Across the map, people I’ve never met
leave pieces of themselves in my hands,
like folded notes slipped between the pages
of a book I didn’t know I was reading.
Noise travels fast.
The important things usually arrive late,
and only if you’re listening,
a whisper threading its way
through the static of everyone
trying to be thunder.
I’ve learned that the loudest rooms
rarely hold anything worth keeping.
It’s the quiet exchanges,
the ones that grow unseen,
like roots working in the dark –
that stay,
that shape us,
that ask nothing but honesty in return.
Maybe that’s all we ever do:
carry each other in small, invisible ways,
a line, a breath,
a moment of being seen
by someone who doesn’t know our face
but somehow knows our heart.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC
Safety.
I sink deeper
into the cushions
as if the fabric
could hold the noise.
I try
to arrange my thoughts
into something quiet.
But it is only
my anxiety
tightening around me.
Inside
a scream
with nowhere to go.
Outside
I sit still
in the middle of the couch
as if it were protection.
Tomorrow
will find me.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 3:44 PM UTC