Days and nights turn,
awareness moving with them—
each moment born as if for the first time.
Breath carries the pulse of change,
not apart from us,
but braided into our living.
Truth arrives not as fire,
but as a slow dawn
softening the edges of shadow.
Wisdom grows in the weave
of stories and scars,
in the music of what we’ve endured.
We are not fixed,
but flowing—
like a river that remembers every stone
and still runs on.
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Author:
arquious (
Offline) - Published: September 20th, 2025 23:13
- Comment from author about the poem: Some words live best in the weight of paper and the scent of ink. This piece remembers the feel of writing before the world went weightless.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Welcome to MPS a fave for your first write and I do not give them easily. Your language is most poetic and I hope that you continue to write many more equally as beautiful.
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