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: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Mutley Ravishes
- In collections: reworked prior.
Offline)
Comments2
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🙏🕊️
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