The Slow Bloom of Healing
First came the silence, the painful moment after the breaking
A silence clad in weighted darkness, so heavy that it brought ache to bones
With it, an echoing emptiness; one that screamed deep within the soul
The precipice where the world, and all goodness seemed to lean away
Nothing in focus but the shattered pieces now scattered beneath
Life’s pendulum held in check, the rhythm of life now foreign and tainted
Moments ticking by; each memory replayed, every year, embrace, and adventure
Inevitable; that’s the word so often used as if it held some magical power
Healing the hurt, filling the void with that which had become routine
And yet with each memory, something stirred beneath the ruins
Faint initially, a tiny spark in this now barren and desolate world
Yet viable and growing, barely a whisper but demanding attention
The great tale of existence has not come to a conclusion
Shelves remain empty, chapters unwritten, pages without progress
Tis true, that healing does not arrive like an unsuspecting clap of thunder
Often it simply drifts in quietly, riding the whispering winds of time
As the morning light slips across the horizon, the moment revealed
Wounds heal, the bruised and weary heart still beating a steady rhythm
And the pendulum once again moves in a slow gentle pattern of synchronicity
What was once, cannot be again, for that is the lesson of time
The aftermath holds subtleties; sadness brings unexpected changes
Movements hold pause, silence is indeed golden, and everything reminds
Survival, once everything, now lost in the silent noise of forgetting
And so, begins the internal strife of retention or moving forward
How to honor that which what was lost, without letting it consume that which remains
When the day arrives, it shall grace your doorstep without ceremony
Different and new, emotional pain held in check for the moment
Figurative hands reaching for figurative soil, optimism engaged
Your voice sings the songs of your ancestors, as the planting begins
Carefully you sift the makings of the life that will soon emerge
Discovery of the potential joy of living, realizing it was only dormant
Like a lengthy moment of seasonal change, you notice the waking of spring
Colors paint the sky, music whispers, light shines in the eyes of strangers
The face in the mirror where your reflection lingers is no longer only sorrow.
Epiphany, or just accepting that healing is not forgetting
Staring at those hands, realizing that the burden is lighter
The scars of the past no longer ache, and it’s easier to move
Sleep comes easier and the morning sun is no longer a dreaded fear
Thoughts foreign, once again become possible, gatherings, hobbies, even love
As the earth itself does, healing moments can grow in broken ground
Each step a journey forward, growing each day, healing until whole
Yet never forgetting the long road you’ve travelled
Additional Reading
R.J. (Ralph) Schwartz is an American poet, author, website owner, and online publisher. His writing spans several poetry collections—ranging from spiritual and romantic to fear-driven explorations—and even extends into science fiction. Notable works include:
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Hope – Inspirational and Spiritual Poetry
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Things That Go Bump in the Night – Poetry of Fear and Fright
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The Lover’s Thread – Poetry for Couples
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Poetry of the Human Condition – The Ups and Downs of Modern Living
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The Secrets of the Moon (a sci-fi novel co-authored with his son Sebastian J. Schwartz)
Schwartz’s work is described as purposefully wordy, richly descriptive, and thematically grounded in nature, romance, antiquity, and forgotten histories. He writes regularly on platforms he manages, including The Creative Exiles, a collaborative venue for writers, and The Gypsy Thread, which delves into offbeat histories, pagan lore, and poetry.
- The Spring Collection - May 8, 2026
- Faces Without Names - May 6, 2026
- In That One Breath - May 4, 2026
