The morning flows through the blinds.
Fingers of light touching my skin.
I watch them move across the floor.
Drawing shapes only I can see.
The world begins outside my walls.
But here, I settle into quiet.
Each light is a gentle hope.
Each shadow is a soft sign of calm.
No one sees this quiet morning,
No one feels the peace it brings.
And I keep it close inside me,
A tiny sun held in my chest.
About the Creator
Emily
Poem lover, word collector, and believer in the quiet magic of language. I write to remember, to heal, and to find beauty in the spaces between silence and sound. Every poem is a heartbeat — a small proof that feelings can become art.
Christmas Tree
Christmas tree curbside done with living room season waiting for trash truck. I don't even put a Christmas tree in the living room. But when I see the trees on the curb, near the trash bin, waiting for pickup, it makes me sad. Maybe I see a metaphor in it, the way it is discarded when the season is over.
By Seema Patel7 days ago in Poets
The Ritual of Winter Challenge Winners
Welcome to the Winners Announcement for The Ritual of Winter challenge. This prompt focused on winter rituals and the meaning that settles into them over time. The top pieces stay grounded in ordinary acts and repeated routines, letting winter shape the work through pace, attention, and restraint.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
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