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A POET’S POEM

By Vera Von Monika

The pen hovers, trembling above the void,
a fragile bridge between thought and breath.
Words do not demand, they beckon,
whispering secrets only the silence knows.

A melody hides beneath the ink,
fingers tracing shadows of forgotten songs.
Every pause, a universe,
every line, a pulse of what cannot be spoken.

The night leans close, attentive,
absorbing the tremor of quiet truths.
Time dilates, bends,
and the poet’s voice - soft, unyielding
carves constellations in the unseen.

Here, in the hush between heartbeats,
every sorrow and delight coagulates into form.
Every longing is held without claim,
every beauty is noted and released.

To write is to live twice:
once in the skin of the world,
once in the skin of the word.
And the poem, like the poet,
breathes… infinite, fleeting, eternal.

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