Fourlinegraphia

 In this quiet gray shadow, I linger, Not lost, not fully here, Like a picture slowly fading, Its colors worn and sheer. I see my shadow on the walls, Where light once used to stay, Now softened by the dust of time, That settles day by day. I move through hours like drifting smoke, A ghost with measured breath, Breathing in, breathing out, Practicing closeness with life, not death. I float like boats on silent seas, Where hope is low and thin, Where feelings curl and fall asleep, And currents pull within. My eyes stay dry, no tears appear, No joy ignites my face, Yet sorrow doesn’t claim me too- I’m paused in this strange place. Just a steady hum of being here, Of staying, not retreating, A fragile thread I still hold tight, A life that’s softly beating. I answer when I must respond, I go where days require, I endure, I carry on, Though disconnected, tired. And maybe you know this space too well- Where feeling used to grow, Where warmth slipped out like evening light, And left a mu...

  I stand beside the quiet pond, the world hushed in reverence, the water’s glass smooth, unbroken, a mirror holding what I’ve lost and gained.   Beneath the surface, shadows drift- faint echoes of laughter, whispers of tears, ghosts of who I was and who I’ve become, fading into the depths I dare not touch.   My reflection ripples- not in defiance, but in acceptance, the face unchanged yet somehow altered, bearing stories I’m still learning to tell.   The eyes, familiar, hold a different light- a softer glow of knowing, a quiet acknowledgment of what remains and what has slipped away like water through fingers.   Thoughts drift like leaves- drifting, falling, unhurried- reminding me that growth is slow, that healing is quiet, unseen.   I search the surface for the person I was- the one who believed in tomorrow, who loved without fear, who thought the pain would pass.   But the pond offers only reflection- a truthful, unfil...

  There is a voice beneath the hush, A whisper carved from years of silence, Not fragile, not broken, just unseen- Waiting for the moment to be spoken. / You lean in, but hesitate- Not because I am distant, But because your words are afraid To touch the truth in my eyes. / I am not a shadow hiding behind curtains, Nor a story you tell in passing- I am the echo of your care, The pulse beneath the quiet. / Speak to me, plain and clear, Let the silence be honest, For in your words, I find my strength- Not in the hush that keeps me small. / I am here-whole, waiting, willing- To be seen beyond the whispers, Not a rumor, not a lesson, But a voice that demands to be heard. / And when you finally meet my gaze, You’ll see the quiet resilience- A woman unbroken by silence, Standing tall in her truth.

  "I didn’t know the word for you. I just knew something was wrong because the house sounded different after you died." The quiet came after you left. Like someone turned down the sound. I didn’t know the word for it then, just that the air felt wrong somehow. The house used to hum a little tune, with you in it, puttering around. Now the hum was gone, replaced by hushed tones and careful steps. The grown-ups talked in low voices, like secrets they didn’t want me to know. They said your name sometimes, then stopped, like catching something forbidden. They told me to be good, and goodness felt like the most important job I ever had. A shield, maybe, against the sadness leaking everywhere. I was good at being good. I folded my little pajamas neat, smoothed out all the wrinkles. I ate the peas, even the ones I hated. I swallowed the lump in my throat, held back the tears that threatened. Their faces were already fragile, like thin glass ready to shatter. I didn’t want to cause mo...

  The night descends in quiet, deep and mild, And soothes my thoughts as one would calm a child. The clamor of the day grows faint and still, As peace, unbidden, bends me to its will. The restless wind lays down its wandering song, The hurried hours no longer press along. All things grow hushed beneath the moon’s soft gleam, And I am drawn into a kindly dream. The moon, in silver majesty displayed, Keeps watch where all my mortal cares are laid; While distant stars, like scattered gems on high, Shed fragile hope across the darkened sky. The forest stands in reverent repose, Its leafy tales no longer seek to close. Each measured breath, both slow and deep and sure, Draws troubled thoughts away, serene and pure. My heart assumes a calmer, steadier grace, As ancient griefs grow weary of their place. What once lay heavy loosens, then departs, Unclaimed at last by unremembering hearts. Between the realms of waking and of sleep, Where tender dreams their silent vigils keep, New visions b...

  I feel spring’s fingers brush my skin, Greening softly, slow and sure. Something in me begins to thin, A quiet shift, a gentle cure.   The earth awakens first, then I- A breath, a pause, a tender start, As snow dissolves from tearful sky, And warmth begins to fill my heart.   Bare branches blush against the blue, As if they remember how to hope. From darkened ground, I see me too- A courage rising, broadening scope.   The sun lingers longer in my sky, Its brightness teaches me to grow, That I don’t need permission to fly, Just trust the light that starts to glow.   Birdsongs return to fill my ears, Their melodies reclaim my voice, In softest whispers, shedding fears, Reclaiming choice, reclaiming choice.   Daffodils wake, bold and bright, Tulips lift their painted heads- I learn that joy is mine by right, And color blooms where hope treads.   The river runs more freely now, Reflecting dreams and brighter streams, I let t...