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Whispers, warmth, and the things that could make life glow. |
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Welcome to My Private Whispers and Light Blog Some places we create just for breathing — quiet corners where our thoughts settle, our hearts speak, and the small, bright things in life finally get a voice. This is mine. Here, I’m gathering the pieces that make my world feel warm and whole: • the love of my life and my family • art in every color and every form • photos, quotes, and little scribbles that catch me at the soul • Bible verses that steady me • daydreams, hopes, and the questions that keep me curious • wolves, birds, cats, and the creatures I’ve loved since childhood • podcasts I adore, memes that make me wheeze • and the writing that threads it all together ✍🏻 I’ve carried these whispers for a long time — tucked into journals, hidden in drafts, scattered across platforms. Now they finally have a home. If you’ve wandered in, welcome. Maybe you came for a poem, a thought, a spark… or maybe curiosity just nudged you here. Whatever the reason, I’m glad you stopped for a moment. I hope something in this little corner lifts you, warms you, or at least makes you smile. And if not… well, at least you’ll get to wonder why on earth you’re reading this jumble of thoughts and ideas. 🤣 Either way, the door’s open. Let’s see where the light leads. Always kind wishes, Tee |
When Words Ask Us to Stay Every now and then, I come across something so special that I can’t help but settle in and read it again and again, trying to fully grasp the meaning behind the words being shared. That’s one of the ways I know I’m in the presence of something rare. I always worry that pieces like this may be skimmed with what I call a “topical pass,” never truly seen for the depth they hold beyond a first, quick read. On Saturday, I received a note on my community feed from an author I follow. She had added something new to one of her books. A little secret of mine is that I read a great deal of her portfolio quietly, without always saying so. When I have a headache or feel especially tired, I often turn to her writing. I discovered her work some time ago and fell in love with her style. I return to it often—poetry that is layered, thoughtful, and meant to be sat with rather than rushed. But this piece—this poem she titled Broken Windows—was something else entirely. It stayed with me. I found myself reading it slowly, studying it, letting it settle. To me, this is the very best kind of poetry. The kind that lingers. The kind that doesn’t let go easily. I reached out to her to share how deeply it affected me, and with her permission, I wanted to write this reflection—not to explain the poem away, but to share how it spoke to me and why I believe it deserves time and care from the reader. ***** Sitting With Broken Windows The poem opens with the line: “Why do I recoil against life’s dirge?” A dirge is a song of mourning, often played at funerals. To me, this line asks a deeply human question: Why do I pull away from life when it feels heavy, sorrowful, or filled with grief? It speaks to exhaustion—the kind that comes from carrying pain for too long. The next image deepens that feeling: “Mournful downer notes trumpet through broken windows I board up against treachery—retreating.” This is dense, layered imagery. The broken windows feel like emotional openings—places where hurt once entered. Boarding them up becomes an act of self-protection. Treachery suggests betrayal, disappointment, or harm that taught the speaker it was safer to retreat than remain open. In simple terms, I hear someone saying: Life keeps hurting me, so I close myself off to survive. Then comes one of the quietest, yet most powerful lines in the poem: “My heart gathers dust.” Dust gathers where nothing moves. Where life has gone still. This line speaks to numbness—not because the speaker lacks feeling, but because they have been protecting themselves for too long. The spiritual turning point follows: “Christ whispers, ‘I died for you—can you not live for Me?’” What struck me here is that Christ does not shout. He whispers. This isn’t condemnation or judgment—it’s invitation. A gentle reminder that hiding may keep us safe, but it also keeps us from fully living. Finally, the poem closes with: “I pray to open myself, letting Love flow through.” There is no claim of victory here. No neat resolution. Only desire. I want to open again. I want to try. ***** What This Poem Says to Me For me, Broken Windows is not a poem of answers. It is a poem of confession. It speaks to: • Emotional withdrawal after pain or betrayal • The fear of being hurt again • The tension between faith and self-protection • The longing to reopen one’s heart, even when it feels frightening It may feel difficult to grasp on a first read because the imagery is compact and the movement is inward rather than narrative. But at its core, it says something profoundly human: I closed myself off because life hurt me. I know love asks me to live openly again. I’m afraid—but I want to try. And sometimes, that wanting is enough to begin. That is why I felt compelled to write this blog. Some words deserve time. Some writing deserves to be lingered over. And some poems don’t ask to be understood quickly—only honestly. ***** A little secret of mine is that I read a great deal of her portfolio quietly, without always saying so. When I have a headache or feel especially tired, I often seek out something of hers to read. I discovered her work a while ago and fell in love with her style. I return to her writing again and again—poetry that is deep, layered, and meant to be studied in order to be fully understood. But this piece—this poem she titled Broken Windows—is something else entirely. It is so deeply beautiful that I found myself reading and studying it for quite some time. For your enjoyment: Broken Windows -by Amethyst Snow Angel "Broken Windows"  Why do I recoil against life’s dirge? Mournful Downer notes trumpet through broken windows I board up against treachery—retreating. My heart gathers dust. Christ whispers, “I died for you can you not live for Me?” I pray to open myself, letting love flow through. 9 lines, 43 words For some reason I can't seem to get the spacing to do right so click on the name above to see how the poem is laid out. ***** I say again: To me, this is the very best kind of poetry. The kind that lingers. The kind that stays with you long after the reading ends. I did send her a note about this. Here is a copy of what was said: Thank you for sharing this. I had to sit with it for a while, because it touches on something very real and very tender. I understand what you’re saying here—the instinct to retreat when life feels heavy or unsafe, to board ourselves up after hurt or betrayal, even though part of us knows we were meant to live and love more openly. The image of the heart “gathering dust” especially stayed with me. That quiet stillness, not from lack of feeling but from self-protection, is something I recognize deeply. And the way you describe Christ’s voice as a whisper rather than a command feels important—it reads as an invitation, not judgment. A gentle reminder that life asks something of us, even when we’re tired or afraid. What I hear in this poem isn’t certainty, but honesty. You’re not claiming to have arrived anywhere—you’re naming the struggle between hiding and opening, between retreat and love. That longing to let Love flow through again, even after everything, feels brave to me. Thank you for putting words to something that’s so difficult to say out loud. It helped me feel less alone with feelings I know well. Kind wishes, Tee I did ask her later for her permission to write a blog about this poem and she gave it.  |
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