hello poetry
rustling beneath an unwritten page,
a quiver begins—soft as rain on glass.
Words lean toward each other,
testing air between syllables,
like strangers exchanging glances
before they dare to speak.
Here, ink is not just ink—
it is breath, a slow unfurling of a thought
that has waited years for its own voice.
Every line a bridge, every pause a doorway.
And when the poem finds you,
it does not knock—
it slips into your chest,
settles beside your heartbeat,
and ripples outward from it.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2026 05:00
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: Mutley Ravishes, Kevin Hulme, Cheeky Missy, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: reworked prior.
Offline)
Comments7
Heartfelt, Arqios!
Much obliged, Mutley. Thanks🙏🕊️
Very nicely said I particularly love the last stanza that feels so right. Well done my friend
Glad to hear about the final stanza. Thanks Soren🙏🕊️
My pleasure my friend
lovely write
Thank you, my friend 🙏🕊️
most welcome
This beautifully captures that eerie moment when a poem seems to exist before the writer actually gives it words. The final image is damn strong—the poem doesn’t knock or ask permission; it slips inside and starts beating with you.
Yes, both within and without. All over like a pan-poetic existence. 🙏🕊️
Just about sums it up.
thanks Kevin 🙏🕊️
My Pleasure.
Wow, Arqios, I absolutely love this. Poetry emerging from silence, words slowly discovering one another, thoughts finally finding their voice…then the finished poem quietly entering another person and rippling outward. That captures something deeply true about why poetry matters to me. Beautiful piece, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Let's keep making poetry matter 🙏🤩🕊️
Such treu words Rik, poetry is formed in a myriad of ways.
Andy
A myriad shards of light!
Thanks Andy🙏🏻🕊️
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