What the Mirror Shows [poem]

 While others dream of kingdoms built of stone,

I frame a quiet kingdom of my own. 

Besides the washbasin, a mirror stands.

In tarnished silver held by careful hands.

It does not look for grand or majestic views,

But catches light in soft, domestic hues.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My ambition isn't gone; it just changed shape. The steady promise to keep planting, keep weaving, and keep choosing peace every day.

"The promise to keep choosing"

"Fierce determination"

"Growing who you are"

Commitment to keep showing up, and to keep building your life for the better.

Flowers after the Storm [soft spoken pages]

Some days, she is fierce and can move mountains. She is unstoppable, climbing the unknown. With gentleness, descending slowly with confidence and pace. 

Yet some days, she is a storm bracing for waves that will push against her. Sailing a treacherous force that will pull her under, apprehensive to fight against those waves. 

Gentleness... is hope and hope allows her to stay still, and her body will flow to the tides. I surrender my body and mind-this soul to the movements I can not control. 

Eventually, I'd see the rays of warmth that is the sun and a land peeked with luminous floral patches with lush green fields. 

Butterflies Cry [poem]

 Some say the butterfly is joy.

A painted jewel that sunlight can employ.

To flutter lightly through the summer air,

with patterns lifted from a dream too rare.

~

They do not speak of sorrow, ache or strain;

They only tell of sunshine after rain.

~

But look more closely when the day is done.

When dewdrops settle on the lilac petals.

As velvet shadows steams the sun.

~

The butterfly its journey is done.

It folded its wings underneath the descending sun.

The meadow hums a hymn for what's become

Remembers love that ended or begun.

~

It's the dew of the deep and quiet grief.

A teardrop falling from a silken leaf.

A miniscule translucent silent spill.

A sorrow carried by a creature still.

"Joy can still take flight, but even wings of wonder sometimes weep."

This is my song, to my everlasting growth, and promise to keep to keep going. Just like the butterflies in shine or rain.

A sacred place [poem]

 I used to think it was four walls, and a window, a door...

But maybe it's a feeling.

A place that is safe, and abundant in love. 

What is such a feeling? If not a place?

Maybe it's in hope. The way I desire and dream. The only safe space, the place where I feel free, and in control. A place that is vivid and seen. Just like the trees, and the wildflowers. Where the foxes run free across the dandelion, and daisy fields.

The sky is bright blue endless, and wide.

The clouds are scarce, but plenty.

I can see blue, clear lakes flowing against the stones, with endless sand stretching between the shores. Little crabs are building nests beneath larger stones.

What a joy to see it all, like a summer's cabin peacefully out in the middle of the mountains perhaps that is the sacred place.