The Reckoning of Verse
Words do not wait.
They press against silence,
strain against the skin of unspoken
thought, demanding release.
Time does not permit softness.
It carves urgency into bone,
into pulse,
into breath,
leaving no room for hesitation.
Poetry often arrives unbidden,
clothed in necessity-
a force neither gentle
nor forgiving, only
what must be said,
and what refuses to be ignored.
It does not settle.
It does not console.
It disturbs, disrupts, dismantles,
remakes the world beneath its weight.
And when it has done its work—
when the ink has soaked through skin,
when the rhythm has seized the heart—
it is no longer a thing created,
but a thing that owns you.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 10th, 2026 05:28
- Comment from author about the poem: An in-other-words poem from a couple of years back. Still on the look out for a better title. This one’s a bit up itself.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments6
It gestates and grows in the belly of the poet and in that moment a pressure is felt, contractions begin and there is no holding back nature's process of birth.
Braxton-Hicks contractions of poetry birthing, exciting 🕊️🙏🏻
Try to keep my poems small so as to not require an episiotomy
Ouch. I will keep that in mind🕊️🙏🏻
A fine Poem on the Creation of a Poem. I was thinking 'The Truth of the Matter' for a title.
Either way : Enjoyed.
That’s an excellent, straightforward title! Thanks, Kevin🕊️🙏🏻
My friend, this is ferocious in its clarity. It doesn’t romanticize the act at all, it names the pressure and the cost. That final possession feels absolutely earned. And about your note… I actually like that you call the title “a bit up itself,” because the poem itself isn’t. It earns the authority it claims through pressure and necessity, not ego. Whatever name it ends up with, the reckoning you describe feels real and lived. Strong work, Rik. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
For any of our babies to be strong enough to stand on their own is sufficient legacy as we fade; they have the chance to live on. Thanks Tittu 🕊️🙏🏻
Amen. Truth! Most welcome, Rik!
You got that quill out to use that ink?! lol.
Spilled milk, yes… ink though, not to be wasted 🥛 🪶🕊️🙏🏻
Those words will always grow Rik.
Andy
Thanks, Andy🕊️🙏🏻
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