Consistent nothing, all alone but for a ticking clock blue view behind my eyelids inhale, exhale, listen Let subtle showers of the quiet unfold to take me deeper into a silver inner poem of open peace Photo courtesy of Pixabay
It sits inside an unfilled basket, a table set for dinner. It lies upon the open hand waiting to be held and holds its breath, a ten-count pause that stills a voice from anger. It waits upon an uninked page, and virgin canvas patient on an easel. It’s poised behind the heavy velvet preceding a … More Potential
Wind Rush 