Poetry

There Is Still

the world is hard today
but there is still

there is still a person smiling at a stranger in the street
still the trees of summer wafting in the breeze
still the light of a warm golden evening slanting through the park
still dust motes dancing in its wake
there is still

there is still the look on a child’s face when it sees its first bubble pop
still the warmth of a fire, smell smoke and sound of crackling wood
still the feeling when cold, you get in a hot bath and your legs rejoice in the numb
there is still

there is still the joy of reading a passage and thinking “yes! this is me!”
still the tight hug of a friend you haven’t seen in a while
still the first glimpse of an unexplored landscape from a plane window
there is still

there is still the pure lineny smell of the first virgin snow in winter
still the satisfying crunch of an autumn leaf under your shoe
still the gritty scratching of sand between toes on the beach
still the haunting melancholy howl of a wolf in the distance
there is still

there is still the way your favourite person looks at you when you walk into a room
still the beautiful moment of pregnant silence that hangs at the end of a sonata
still the feeling of diving dry into a lake and coming up wet and free
there is still

there is still, and yet
that’s it really, isn’t it?

there is stillness when the world creeps off
and you are left alone with stark reality in the lamplight
and then in the silent dark
there is still

there is still, and you sit motionless in it
and the world continues around you but you have retreated
and as it all falls away a voice within you screams a silent plea
and there is still.


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