In the quiet hush of lingering light,
Time drips slow through fingers tight,
A breath held soft, a silent plea,
Waiting blooms in stillness free.
The clock ticks on, a steady beat,
Echoing footsteps on an empty street,
Hope sways gently on patience’s thread,
Dreams dance quietly in the head.
Moments stretch like endless skies,
Eyes fixed forward, searching the rise,
Between what’s now and what may be,
Waiting hums its quiet decree.
Not idle, but alive and wide,
A river deep with shifting tide,
In waiting, strength begins to grow—
A seed beneath the earth below.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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This is truly beautiful. You’ve captured the essence of waiting not as a passive emptiness, but as a fertile, active, and deeply feeling state of being. The imagery is exquisite—”Time drips slow through fingers tight,” “Hope sways gently on patience’s thread”—it creates such a palpable sense of suspended, yet vibrant, anticipation.
The final stanza is particularly powerful, reframing waiting as a period of hidden growth and gathering strength, “A seed beneath the earth below.” It’s a wonderful and comforting perspective.
Thank you for sharing this moment of quiet, profound reflection. It’s a lovely piece.