The Pond Holds My Name

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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, unfiltered truth,

no promises, no promises broken,

only the weight of what is, and what will be.  


And in that stillness, I find the truth-

not that I am fixed, or whole,

but that I am still here,

learning how to float,

learning how to be enough

in the gentle, endless flow of water and time.


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