Sometimes a poem will come fully and clearly. It is startling, a spark from the subconscious or the vast peripheral consciousness. They are not always good poems but they still count. I was taken by this poem as I walked in the rain while darkness fell gently. It finished itself as I sat typing without thinking at my computer. It gave me a dreamy comfort and yet I felt alert, focused so I followed it as though a winding path. I decided not to edit it. I hope you will find something here that speaks to you. (Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get it to save in a format with paragraph breaks between every three lines just as it was written…If anyone can help, please let me know how to do that.)
Whatever Is This
Whatever is still wears stillness as its skin.
Whatever moves finds energy uncoiling.
Whatever breathes seeks air, earth, fire, water.
Whatever cracks leaves the healing to itself.
Whatever sighs scatters petals on the wind.
Whatever falls intercedes for the beginning and end.
Whatever breaks truce barters with people.
Whatever feeds the world fills it with rust, gold, blood, dust.
Whatever lives in safety camps inside the soul.
Whatever maligns falls over the edge of heaven.
Whatever dreams disturbs science with intuition.
Whatever fades resurrects another beauty.
Whatever creates makes a loose harness for freedom.
Whatever enters the heart of power shakes fear from bones.
Whatever sings unleashes the medicine of love.
Whatever waits needs its own welcome.
Whatever knows loss enters the cellular dance.
Whatever hopes reflects a tear in the light.
Whatever seeks knows the source of all warmth.
Whatever opens disables the lock on the door.
Whatever misses wonder leaves without a backward glance.
Whatever surrenders solves the puzzle.
Whatever lives floats upon the beautiful river.
Whatever is most truly needed will answer your secret prayer:
This.
Is.
The.
Way.
Home.
Copyright December 2012 Cynthia Guenther Richardson
Tales for Life 
I can just imagine you walking, the dusk, the way the poem entered you. Whatever sings releases the medicine of love. Phew. Potent.
I’m happy you like it. Poetry does that at times, right? It can just swoop down, leaving a good moment or two. Please stop by again!
Cynthia, I am truly awestruck by this beautiful poem. I know you are familiar with the younger generation’s use of “whatever!”, almost uttered under the breath, a tone of dismissal to ‘whatever’ was just uttered. That is the only thing that made me sad for all the beautiful expressions of this poem – I keep looking to some of these lines, I substituted ‘she who’, or ‘he who’ for ‘whatever’, and then it came to me, whoever and coming back to your original ‘whatever’. And I read again and feel the whole poem imploring: the ‘who’, the ‘what’, be it female or male, or simply ‘what’. I have enjoyed every one of your posts Cynthia, thank you so much!
Susan, thanks for your critical thinking and sharing. Yes, the ‘whatever’ is he/she/it/Spirit–and is how it came to me. I am honored you appreciate it so much.