What I Found

In this looking glass,
Smooth, still
No hold for the future or past,
Frozen things, and things naught.
In these moments,
Loudly silent,
Ripe and pitiful,
Dark things, and things taut.
On this wayward road,
Rocky, throughout
Plastered with thought and memory
of hopes and wanton things.
In all this crunch and mire,
sound and fury,
pulling voices and
hopes unhurried.
In these waiting years,
Full up with words,
long and short,
crude and hot.
In all this time,
Looking up,
Looking down,
searching
hoping
Looking all around,
Far and near,
Only to find that my peace,
my peace...
was here.

Jason Christopher Johnson