Life proposes pauses;
A distinct monotone
Of mundane and muddled melodies
Missing the distinct, sharp punctuation of the things
You hope for or despise.
A palpable discourse of respite:
Most times, needed but not wanted.
Life itself at times.
Nights staring into nothing when silence catches on
Because the hustle of the day is done.
Running on fumes, no longer able
To overcome the inertia of your own stubbornness
You listen to the Voices
That have been speaking ever since.
My Grace is sufficient for you.