In the quiet I reach. Straining for peace to find me. In the chaos, I strain. Strain to hold, hold, hold for a single moment. Don't let me shatter. Don't let me break. Where is the quiet? I am reaching.
In the day-to-day, I find my pace. I hear the voices and the calls, the cries and the laughter. Just a few moments more, to the end of the day. To the dark of the night and the silence, filled with sleeping breathes.
It storms. Thunder and lightening cracking across the sky. Little voices, calling. Abruptly waking, little arms reaching. Peace, peace. It's just the angels bowling. Slow ease of tension and of fear. Rest now, mama's here.
Bright light of morning breaking. Loud voices and morning calls. I'm here, I'm waking. Smells of coffee and sounds of bustle. The patter of little feet. Here again, the day begins. The cycle now repeats.
About the Creator
Eda Marie
I am an avid reader and aspiring writer, most of what I write here is in the attempt to find my voice, mother of two, full-time teacher and caregiver, and have a passion for language and communication.
In The Blink of Her Eye
Time itself bent and morphed, allowing Shannon the precious seconds needed to see and adjust to the disaster unfolding in front of her. Each frame showed minute details she would have missed had the clock not slowed down until she heard every click of the hands as they swept toward the end of everything. If only she was being melodramatic...
By Lisa VanGalen6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
The angels bowling - we said that too! Wonderful poem about a parent trying to find a quiet moment. Loved the picture for your poem.