The Sacred Stops

gray0328

 

Every morning, Winston and I wander.  

My feet are forward; his nose is down.  

I call it walking, but it’s not.  

It’s more like pausing, then pausing again.  

 

He finds every crack a universe unfolding.  

Every tree a novel yet unwritten.  

Every breeze whispers secrets I can’t hear.  

I tug the leash, eager for progress.  

 

But he lingers, faithful to each moment.  

And I wonder how often I miss them—  

The sacred stops, the holy interruptions.  

The places where God might be waiting.  

 

I pull him forward, impatient to keep going.  

He resists, patient to savor staying still.  

Walking Winston is not about moving.  

It is about learning to listen deeply.

  • Author: gray0328 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 31st, 2026 11:08
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 18
  • Users favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

✔ Receive the ebook in seconds ✔ 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments2

  • sorenbarrett

    We are not the owners but the owned, not the trainers but the trained. Well written

    • gray0328

      Thanks Soren

      • sorenbarrett

        Most welcome Gray

      • Doggerel Dave

        Totally different sensory experience - totally different reality.
        You make it quite clear that I'm a prisoner of my own perceptions. Thanks for the reminder.

        • gray0328

          Thanks for sharing your feedback Dave I appreciate it



        To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.