In the quiet of dawn, I carve out space,
A chisel, a brush, a heart in my hands.
Flaws like cracked marble, I polish with grace,
No need for the world when the mirror understands.
Sweat on my brow, I rewrite every seam,
Threads of old doubts, I pull them apart.
Breathe deep, stand taller—this growth is my dream,
Till the cracks turn to stories, a beautiful art.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 8th, 2026 12:46
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
Poetry as therapy is a beautiful thing. It is one of the main reasons that I got involved and still is. A wonderful poem
Thank you, it helps!
You are most welcome William
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