When the Mind Learns to Breathe

There is a hush
that sometimes rises
from the corners of the soul—
a soft rearranging,
like furniture shifting
in a room no one remembers entering.

Thoughts flutter there,
thin as wings against a window,
searching for a sky
they do not yet recognize.
Some carry old dust,
some carry broken echoes,
all of them trembling
as if deciding
whether to stay
or finally lift.

In that stillness,
a strange warmth moves—
not loud,
not quick,
but steady—
like light trying on a darkened room
to see where it fits best.

And slowly,
almost shyly,
the shadows stop clinging to the walls.
They loosen.
They listen.
They learn to be less
than what they were.

No thunder,
no blaze,
just a quiet turning—
a thought choosing gentleness
over the comfort of its old edges,
a feeling laying down its weapons
in the middle of the night,
a mind remembering
how to breathe
without defending itself.

And somewhere in that shift—
in that unannounced
interior sunrise—
you realize
the battle didn’t end.
It simply changed hands.

The light was winning
long before you noticed.

If this poem stirred something in your heart, remember that the deepest roots grow from God’s Word itself. “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11). If you’d like simple, practical help in tucking Scripture into memory…

👉 Sign up for the free FAST Crash Course in Bible Memorization: http://fast.st/cc/21419