Poem: More

Sitting with the pain


Early in the morning, the birds sing,
a ribald chorus,  raucus and joyful.
The room is still cool from the night,
but as the sun rises, the demons are banished.

Morning prayers sends them packing for the day.
Meditation stills your soul,
putting aside then and tomorrow,
allowing you to capture this moment, completely.

The perfume of phlox rise from the gardens,
a refuge of the night.
Wind stirs the curtains.
The car wakes, and adds its purr to the birdsong outside.

You breath in. Deeply. There is rain in the air,
not yet here, but near. Soon it will capture the sun
and turn the sonds of the morning
into a soft drone, a chant of peace and tranquility.

This is how your day begins.
This is how the warrior prepares for battle.
Not in anger or challenge, but in a peace
that opens the soul to something beyond itself,

to find a strength that is not your own,
but more.

About this poem

I’m really not very strong. But I have help.

A decade ago, as I was falling apart, my therapist set me back on a path of daily bible study, prayer, and meditation. It was the best medicine I’ve ever been given, and today, it is still what holds me together.



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