I trace the quiet in my chest.
Where words fall softly, unspoken.
A shadow hums beneath the skin.
A story left unwritten, hidden.
The wind knows things I cannot say.
It carries sighs that drift away.
I gather moments, thread by thread.
And fold them where the night has led.
No eyes will read this hidden verse.
No voice will echo, no one else.
It lives in folds of time, alone.
A garden grown from marrow, alone.
If ever it escapes my grasp,
I hope it breathes without a gasp.
For some things are meant to be.
A secret shared only with me.
About the Creator
Emily
Poem lover, word collector, and believer in the quiet magic of language. I write to remember, to heal, and to find beauty in the spaces between silence and sound. Every poem is a heartbeat — a small proof that feelings can become art.
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