The Quiet Anchor

The kitchen floor is cold beneath my knees, / a frantic pulse still thrumming in my chest. / The world demands a thousand heavy things, / and leaves me hollow in this place of rest. / I trade the logic of the driving rain / for silence that does not require a name.

It is a guard that stands before the gate, / a sentry keeping watch above the mind. / When panic tries to rewrite every fate, / this steady hand leaves all the fear behind. / It does not ask for reasons or for proof, / but settles like the light upon the roof.

I do not need to solve the tangled knot, / or hold the unraveling threads within my palm. / The peace that stays when comfort is forgot, / is not a vacuum, but a deeper calm. / It moves beyond the reach of human sense, / a grace that needs no logical defense.