Peace is a moment after pain.
Peace is the freshness after rain.
Peace is the quiet, after wind.
Peace is the garment where hope is pinned.
There is peace in a memory, peace in beauty,
a wry kind of peace in unpleasant duty.
Peace is the look in a baby's face.
Peace is the breath at the end of the race.
Personal peace is a fragmented thing
as fleeting and pure as birdsong in spring
the edge between worry and striving once more
a landing, a ledge... a wide open door!