Sacred Stillness Poetry
Written by Jeanne Panucci
Knowing
Black fur so warm
Fuzzy tail in a curl
Content to lie in the striped sun
Sleepy, blinky eyes
Tap, tap, tap
Softly, the curl goes
Dream, dream, dream
The little Soul knows…
A Chair
A chair stands alone on a sunlit porch.
Waiting for the next breeze,
the next bird song,
the next butterfly to land on its arm.Not lonely, only still.
Still.A sun beam touches it,
and then the next,
and the next.The warm breeze swirls softly around.
Could a chair be so comforted?
Maybe no.
But it waits for you to sit in it.
It waits for you.
Invite them in to sit
Knock, knock, knock,
Open the door,
Open the door and see.
See your grief and sadness standing there.
See your tears and terror.
You can tell them to leave, but then they won’t.
See your fear and freight.
See your anger and rage.
You can ask them to leave, but then they won’t.
So accept their presence and invite them in.
Invite them in to sit.
Then they will say “Thank you for the visit, but now we have to go”.