Incomplete Poem Poem by Arthur H Rowley

It's alright, I suppose,
here in the December wrought sunlight
there is a defined difference between peace and joy
joy is chaotic
and bright
it laps at the senses
pulls life from withered form
forces you to move and laugh and hold each other close
but peace is quiet
and patient
when it finds you in the winter sun
it has no need to hold you nearer to it's chest
it simply watches you breathe

and now, here in the gentle rain,
I know just as much peace as I ever met in that sunlight
if cradled under a tree that does little to hinder the downpour
I know just as much silence here
as I did in the solace of warmth
perhaps I am improving
and this poem needs no final line
for I am not yet finished