Change

I have come to learn that change

Is quiet

Not the parts that lead up to change

That is loud

And messy

And full of uncertain chaos

But change itself is its own beast

It prowls just out of sight

Watching

Waiting

Whittling away at your defences

Until you are shed

Of the shields and buildup

Borne from years of

Masks and memories

Stripped back to the original

Like repurposed furniture

The deepest scars remain

But the paint is gone

I am raw timber

Waiting to be varnished

Brought back to full glory

But until then I will be gentle

And I will embrace the quiet.