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The Measure of the Sea #naturepoetry #poetrydaily #poetryaddict

Who has ever reached the end of water, or counted the thoughts hidden beneath a quiet tide? The sea does not reveal its heart to those who only skim its surface. It keeps its oldest stories where sunlight surrenders, where silence becomes a language older than memory. There, in the unseen depths, life begins without applause. The greatest wonders have never needed witnesses. So it is with kindness. It is rarely the loud declaration that changes the world, but the unnoticed gesture, a hand extended before it is asked, a burden shared without complaint, a forgiveness offered when justice alone would seem enough. Kindness flows as rivers find the ocean: not because they are commanded, but because giving is their truest direction. And humanity, for all its fractures, has endured not by the strength of stone, nor by the sharpness of steel, but by the quiet courage of those who chose compassion when cruelty promised an easier victory. The deepest waters hold the greatest pressure, yet they c...
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How rivers forget their names #nature #naturepoetry @poem #poetry

The river ran with a restless heart,
Carrying stories from mountain stone.
It knew the curves of valleys well,
And sang in a voice it called its own.

The sea waited, wide and calm,
A breathing blue with salted skin.
It spoke in tides and moonlit pulls,
Inviting all the waters in.

But the ocean roared with deeper drums,
Ancient, vast, too large to plead.
It did not ask the river’s will,
It claimed all endings as its creed.

The river fought with foaming cries,
Clinging to banks it used to know.
“I have a name, a path, a past—
I am not ready to let go.”

The sea softened the river’s rage,
Mixed its sweet with salted tears.
Promised rest, not erasure,
A merging calm beyond its fears.

Yet the ocean opened its endless mouth,
Where borders blur, and currents twist.
There, the river lost its edges,
And became what it resisted.

No battle left a wound or scar,
No victor stood upon the sand.
Only a quiet transformation,
Where water learns to understand.

For every river meets this fate:
To travel far, then disappear.
Swallowed not by cruelty or war,
But by something vast, sincere, and near.

And in that conflict without sound,
Where endings look like rebirth’s face,
The river dies to be everywhere—
A small life claimed by endless space. 🌊


© 2025 Gloria Penelope

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