“Solace, revisited”
The house is quiet,
not with absence
but with a soft weight
of things that have learned
to stay.
A cup waits on the bench,
sat on a small speck of light.
The oven radiates its warmth
into that late hour.
I used to call this solitude,
as if the word itself
were a door closing.
Now it feels like
a room settling around me,
walls leaning into their own stillness,
offering a place
to set down the day.
Solace was once a horizon
I could never reach.
Tonight it is the kettle
warming without hurry,
and the quiet way
the house remembers
how to hold me.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 24th, 2026 05:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson), Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: revisited oeuvre.
Offline)
Comments6
A fav
Thanks friend 🙏🏻🕊️
There is a quiet sense of being to this poem. A settled feeling that feels like one belongs and always has. Nicely done Cryptic
Many thanks Soren. That means so much.🙏🏻🕊️
My pleasure my friend
I think we all have our part of the Day that we can feel perfect Solace. With me it's a cup of Tea and a good Book. And with the way it is in some Countries: War etc. We are indeed fortunate. A fave .
We are indeed, thank you Kevin 🙏🏻🕊️
My Pleasure.
Good write A.
Thanks O
Oh, I loved this, arqios. Quiet without loneliness is such a different kind of peace…and you took me right there. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Quietude: I have it now for some time. Wasn't always so. Thanks for a very soft whisper.
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