The Stillness Between Footfalls

The morning breaks with fractured light,  

a silence rippling through tired streets.  

Hands quiver, reaching for unseen threads,  

frayed prayers encoded in every breath.  

Each step, a whisper in forgotten tongues,  

the rhythm of grace stitched into dust.  

God moves in the crease of moments,  

where shadows soften to humble gold.  

See there—His face in the stranger's stare,  

the flicker of wings slicing autumn air.  

Your meditation blooms where the hours falter,  

carved into the marrow of passing time.  

Walk not to arrive, but to remember,  

to cradle the sacred scattered along the path.  

Do not stumble over your own yearning,  

each breath holds the weight of divinity.  

And when the day’s spine begins to bow,  

trace your steps back to the morning quiet.  

For in every effort to be still,  

His presence lingers just beyond the veil.