The world is silent,
Save the sound of the stream.
The sound of water gliding
Over the soft-edged stones
That had endured
The gentle waters.
The water curves and flows
Around the tips of your fingers
As your hand graces the current.
A stone tumbles into the stream
And a splash, a trickle, of water, meets your arm.
A small interruption,
Before the stream melts together again.
You lay on its bank
While your hand remains in the water.
Your eyes softly close
As the serenity cleanses your hand.
The calm, delicate, smooth current
Washes away the doubts and the sorrow,
Like a soft, gentle embrace.
About the Creator
Borax
Just trying to create something good.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Masquerade Party
At six feet seven inches tall and approximately two hundred fifty pounds, Samael presented an imposing figure when he walked into a room. His physical stature may be impressive, but his demeanor is the opposite. The shy, some might say, reclusive personality that he developed as a young boy followed him into manhood. His favorite job was crunching numbers in a quiet one man back office of a fiduciary firm. He was always polite, greeting his fellow workers with a “good morning” or “good afternoon” as he walked to the back of the office where his little hideaway was located, but never tried to engage in conversations.
By Mark Gagnon2 days ago in Horror
Comments (2)
This felt so blissful! Such a beautiful poem!
I sure wish I were lying down by that stream right now, my stress would melt away. Lovely poem.