Peace

Peace is like the constant hum of a moonbeam on a shadowed evening.
It lights a great ocean with soft notes that give life and depth.
It consumes the darkness in a quiet way,
So that you wouldn’t notice it.
Except on those pitch-black nights
When the world is so silent, even crickets are afraid to chirp their songs
And disturb the heaviness.
You don’t miss it till it’s gone-
And then the ache is nearly unbearable, and its return seems uncertain.
But still it is constant. And quietly present.
It summons a man from darkness to light, from peril to safety.
It sets about him as a gentle rolling wind sifts through reeds lingering at a grassy bank.
It has been, even in the heaviest night, the settled beacon of hope and rest.
Underneath the bleakness, it waits to be remembered again,
Acknowledged for its necessity.
But that man does not perceive it does not change its potency.
It is strong and courageous, steadfast and hopeful.
It provides structure and purpose as we dance in its light,
Like a moonbeam on a shadowed evening.