“The Silence Between Lines”
Unread poems
are unwritten poetry —
ink still dreaming in the vein,
pages breathing in the dark,
their margins uncreased
by any gaze.
They live in the quiet tide
before the pen descends,
in the pause
between heartbeat and word,
in the shadow‑scent of paper
waiting
to be touched by thought.
Some drift closer
to the shore of speech,
then slip back
into the mind’s undertow —
perfect in their unspilled form,
a library of ghosts
bound in the quiet tide
we carry.
.