Quiet Storm


Night is made of quiet, the day to darken.


I prop my heart open with a pin,


Set a trap, capture all that comes in.


A question always lingers,


Why can’t I hold what passes through my fingers?






I sit with the Self that lives within,


Sit with the persistent Why I Am.


A storm bursts flooding mind and skin,


Liquid light ever raining,


Oily thought, rainbow on pool draining.



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