The Path to Peace
When raised in turmoil, finding and accepting happiness can be a rare pursuit.
Always seeking, taking, grieving. The empty depth blankets itself in familiarity.
It covets my soul, twisting lashing waves that pull me under.
Every day, I try to find the sky, pushing forward towards the shore.
Lying exposed, bare, waves echo, fingers numb. “Winning is worse” it whispers.
In contrast the quiet calm seems dull. Another lie it tells to hold me.
The waves will always beckon but I choose to hold its enemy.
About the Creator
Claire Jones
On a journey to find the right words.
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