That Woman!
She moves through rooms like light across the floor,
Observant of the shadows and the space,
She knows the threshold of the closing door,
Yet wears her empathy with quiet grace.
Her voice is velvet, dipped in steady gold,
A softness that can hold a heavy heart,
Yet when the truth is harsh or needs be told,
she draws her line with measured, steady art.
She reads the shift of breath, the unspoken word,
The turning tide of tension in the air,
by all the unseen things, her pulse is stirred,
but she is anchored, rooted, and aware.
She does not trade her soul to keep the peace,
nor shrink herself to fit a smaller mold;
She grants herself the power of release,
a story written, confident and bold.
And when the chaos spills, the tangles fray,
When she is lost within the human mess,
She does not hide her spirit far away,
Or dress her broken parts in false redress.
she brings the ruins to the feet of God,
believing He is present in the blur;
Upon the lonely paths her feet have trod,
She knows the eyes of Heaven rest on her.
She is the garden walled, the open gate,
the iron and the silk in equal part;
She does not leave her value up to fate,
But guards the sacred rhythm of her heart.
She knows the boundary is a living thing,
not stone or wall, but rhythm, flow, and breath;
Sometimes she misreads what the shadows bring,
And gives away her center, courting death.
She slips—a word too sharp, a door left wide,
A moment where she loses sight of pace,
And stands alone, stripped of her steady pride,
beneath the quiet judgment of the place.
But in the wake of silence, she retreats,
to turn the lens upon the fractured light;
she owns the stumble in the quiet streets,
and parses through the error in the night.
She does not wallow where the spirit failed,
just learns the contour of the sudden strain;
with every lesson, she is more unveiled,
refining wisdom from the cost of pain.
She returns to the room, the mood, the stir,
with senses honed by what she had to lose;
She knows the world is waiting to test her,
but she is sovereign of the path she’ll choose.
Reading the room, she sees the hidden fray,
the shifting currents where the heart might bend;
she is the work in progress, day by day,
The constant, lovely, shifting, grand ascend.
She holds her "no's" like armor, soft and sure,
she keeps her "yes" for the places where her spirit grows;
Ever evolving, deeper, and more pure,
She's the grace that learns from all she knows.