The river speaks in hushed tones,
its currents thick with secrets,
folding into themselves—
the weight of unspoken histories
dredged along the silt.
I do not step in.
The water remembers too much.
The city breathes metal and wire,
a maze built on absence,
corridors wound so tightly
that voices lose their way,
disappearing before they reach the ear that listens.
I do not linger.
Echoes have sharped edges.
Above, the sky bruises with evening,
a hush before the storm rattles loose
the bones of quiet streets.
Lightning fractures the dark,
too brief to hold, too sudden to name.
I do not follow.
Names are only borrowed,
and some things are better left untold.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 15th, 2025 04:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
Wow this is special. Reading this I am transported to the river ,t he city and nature. Interestingly the author is chooses not to participate. because as it says a t the end some things are left untold.I really enjoyed this. A very introspective piece.
Ah yes. I have been caught out. And yes, thank you for being the first to grace this page today. 🙏🏻🕊️
Hopefully not too deep or too weighty for a Sunday read. Hadn't quite finalised the fathers day write; ours is not until 7 Sept., this year. hehe
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.