Whispers Between Dawn and Dust

Sometimes life teaches us gently and not loudly. I wrote this poem on a quiet morning when the world hung between what had been done and what was only unfolding. It's about clinging to hope, letting go of the baggage we no longer bear, and learning to honour the frail beauty of now. And in that quiet space of calm, we discover that the small lessons are the deepest.

Poem:

Whispers Between Dawn and Dust

I walked where the ground still remembered

the heaviness of footsteps it had forgotten,

where quiet was not emptiness,

but a language the wind translated

in whispering grass and trembling leaves.

The air carried the scent of starts,

brushed on in hues of pale gold and bruised violet—

a reminder that endings prefer to disguise

themselves as soft turning of another page.

I gripped my fears like rocks in my hand,

heavy, shapeless, reluctant to be laid down.

But the river, still and endless,

taught me that even hard rocks

smooth themselves out if they can learn to release.

And so I breathed,

not for tomorrow,

not for yesterday,

but for the gossamer, intangible string of now—

a fleeting lantern in the fog,

enough to light the path ahead of me.

Because sometimes the here and now

isn't just a moment that slips by—

it is the gift we continue to overlook,

the still miracle simply remaining to be beheld.

Thanks for dropping by to hear my words. If this poem spoke to you, I'd love to see you respond in the comments. Every read, share, and heart brings these little pieces of writing to someone who might need them just as much as you do. And if you're with me learning to stop and breathe in the moment, know you're not on that journey alone.