When being nice to myself,
I stick around.
When hurting and feeling,
I sometimes retreat.
There is a silent place where I can go.
Like when the rain falls,
Tears like sunshine become a stream,
Leaves will float and be driven on.
And fishes will swim.
The reflections cannot be seen,
The clouds bring a hue of grey.
My need for clarity consumes me,
And I rest in this place with grace.
There’s seed I sow,
Of peace and thanks.
Where on some sunny day a flower will bloom.
In euphoric praise,
I once again will fall to my knees,
And just be.
The joy I am, for those who wish to see or hear.
(Monday,24 September 2007 Bolton, UK)