Poem: To the Places No One Sees

In the quiet chambers of the heart,
where old sorrows gather like dust on shelves,
there lives a small, steady flame—
flickering, yes, but unextinguished.

Wounds that time forgot to close
still pulse beneath your calmest days,
but hear this:
even the earth mends itself
after winter.

You are no different.

May gentleness find the torn places,
slipping in softly like morning light
through half-opened curtains.
May forgiveness—slow, imperfect—
grow moss over broken stones.

And when the world feels too heavy,
remember:
your breath is a bridge
leading you back to yourself.

Slowly, steadily,
you are learning to stand
where it once hurt to even remember.

Healing is not loud;
it is the whisper that says,
“I’m still here.
And I am becoming whole.”

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie