Inner well of peace

 

 

I used to access an inner well of peace,
but it has been blocked.  Lately, not even
silent Quaker worship can take me there.
I worry that I won’t drink from the well
again, and, if not, the turbulence of
time will win another victim who is
on the edge of her rope, trying to swing
into the healing nectar of quiet. 
 
But let me conjure the place for you and for me:

A pathway appears in a pine forest,

leading to a clearing with a few large

boulders from an ancient pre-Biblical ice

age.  Green grass surrounds them rising

through the pine needles and stone.  A few

mushrooms and moss hug tree root

and ground.  In the hush, under bright sun,

water wells up amid stone.  A stream trickles

down a slight slope.  This is the sacred place

where, still or moving, the body fills with peace

and the heart is open to drink from the well. 

 
Here is the place of rest and restoration
I long for.  This poem takes me there, where 
I fill with the healing nectar of peace and
quiet.   Sun, rock, trees, and water still
my restlessness and silence worrying.
Let me sit here, mid-poem, and rest awhile.

 

For Sumana's prompt "A sanctuary within" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2026 Susan L. Chast