The Bench
There is a bench I keep returning to,
not because it is beautiful, though it is.
Because, it is comfortable and true,
it welcomes me every time I visit.
I return because it never asks a thing,
it does not hurry my thoughts away,
or tell me to have the answers I should bring,
it simply waits for what I have to say.
Some days I bring laughter to this space,
which dances lightly through the leaves,
on other days, it simply gives me grace,
some days I arrive with what a heart receives.
There are days I come carrying questions here,
too heavy for a weary soul to keep holding,
it understands my doubt and all my fear,
without asking why or what is unfolding.
Other days I bring nothing at all to show,
except a weary heart that needs to rest,
and a cold cup of coffee as the shadows grow,
it understands, and gives its quiet best.
The bench never complains or turns away,
it has watched seasons gently teach my mind,
that not everything unfolds in just a day,
it measures time of a completely different kind.
It has seen tears that fell upon the wood,
that later grew and became quiet understanding,
it has heard silence that was fully understood,
saying more than words were ever demanding.
Sometimes I sit quietly looking ahead,
wondering where the path will choose to lead,
sometimes I turn around and look instead,
and notice how far I’ve come indeed.
And often, without quite knowing when,
or how the heavy burdens slipped away,
I stand upon my feet to walk again…
Lighter than when I arrived today.
Perhaps that is what a good bench is for,
not a place that changes your whole life,
but a place that quietly opens up a door,
to remind you that you can pause the strife.
While life continues spinning all around,
tomorrow, or next week, or years from now,
it will still be waiting on this ground,
to offer you its shelter and to bow.
Waiting though not to keep me from the journey’s start,
but to help me find the strength to endure.
It is a resting place within my heart…
Where life can be more secure.
🌹
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Some people mistake constant access for intimacy. Love should feel like an open window, not a locked room. This captured the slow erosion of self with painful honesty.
You’ve captured one of the secret sacred joys for me. Benches in parks carefully spaced along trails. Dedicated to people. These benches and so have a special relationship, much of which you describe so eloquently here in your lovely poem. Though yours goes to even further places that I enjoyed venturing with you. You and your one bench. Me and my many. Sacred connections all. Thank you for honoring their significance in our world. They hold such an important space. Beautiful work.