Poem: Reiki Is My Magic

In quiet hands, the light is born,
A whisper soft as early morn,
No wand I wield, no spell I speak—
Yet healing flows from palms so meek.

The world may chase its noise and fire,
But I sit still, as breaths inspire.
Through sacred touch, the currents glide,
The soul remembers what’s inside.

No need for potions, charms, or runes,
My heart hums ancient healing tunes.
The energy, so pure, so wise,
Moves unseen beneath the skies.

I channel stars, the moonlit tide,
The force that never leaves our side.
Reiki is my sacred thread,
The way I mend, the path I tread.

With every pulse, with every wave,
It teaches me the way to save—
Not just the flesh, but inner cries,
The grief that hides in tired eyes.

This is my magic: calm and deep,
A spell of silence souls can keep.
No need for thunder, flash, or flame—
Just light, and love, and Spirit’s name.

Thank-you for reading.

Much love and Light,

Brenda Marie Fluharty