Silence at Sharpham

Whispered, softly in the breeze
Drifting to the the valley floor
Solace echoes through the leaves,
The soft creak of a door,

Ragged edges of the carpet fray,
From far too many feet.
A stone staircase spirals up and away
Reaching high to meet.

Unspoken pact that does refrain
From judging others' way or pain

Intentions and injunctions tangle,
In a mind so still
Sunbeams cross at every angle,
Encouraging our will.

Gold cornices wink, curtains of blue
In an octagon of peace,
Our souls shake free of their old rust
Emerging shiny new.

Courage erupts from an inner well
Halting the narratives we comfortably tell.

The outside world is different now
Same window, different view
Unprecented fearful clouds,
It bonds us here, like glue

In a forest, tall and strong,
Would I be a bud, twig or leaf?
I thought I was moss, barely clinging on,
All along I was the tree.

A poem written by retreatant Nicole Donne, who said: "With thanks for a life changing experience".

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