“The journey of a quiet conscience”

In the hush between the ticking clocks,  
Where shadows stretch and silence mocks,  
A conscience drifts in gentle streams  
On currents threaded through its dreams.  

It does not clamor, shout, or boast,  
Nor chase the crowd nor haunt like ghost;  
It listens soft to whispers spun  
From kindness woven, deed well done.  

Its burdens light as thistledown  
That rides the breeze beyond the town,  
It moves with unassuming grace,  
A candle’s glow in darkened space.  

No storm of guilt, no sleepless night,  
Just tranquil waters curling white;  
It recollects a word withheld  
When anger’s tongue could not be stilled—  
A quiet turn from tempting pride,  
Forgiveness kept, reproach aside.  

So moves this conscience through its days,  
With honest work and hopeful gaze;  
It greets its faults with humble air,  
Learns mercy’s cost, and repairs the tear.  

Not flawless—no, nor stainless so;  
It errs, reflects, then strives to grow.  
Each gentle act a stepping stone  
In gardens tended, seeds once sown.  

And as the world plays fierce and loud,  
It walks its path unbowed, unbowed,  
A silent strength the soul retains—  
A quiet conscience: simple, plain.  

At dusk, within the peaceful breast,  
This gentle sailor comes to rest;  
While all the world’s commotion ends,  
It knows itself, and rests—content.

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