The Beautiful Is Not Elsewhere

Sometimes we are waiting for something dramatic.

A sign.

A breakthrough.

A sky that opens.

But most mornings begin without ceremony.

Just frost along the wire.

Cold air in the lungs.

Light on ordinary fences.

This poem came from that realization.

There is a pulse beneath our steps that does not depend on applause or belief. It does not ask to be called divine. It asks only to be noticed.

To stay with the smaller fire is harder than chasing thunder.

But it is truer.

If this poem does anything, I hope it reminds you to breathe once before looking elsewhere.

What steadies you may already be inside.

Poetical Vibe