Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash
We are made of ink and bones.
Fingers stained with stories no one knows.
Each word is a spark, a piece of soul.
Each sentence is a bridge to something whole.
We chase the whispers of thoughts untamed.
Hunt the wild echoes that can't be named.
Our pages tremble, fold, and bleed.
Carrying all the hunger our hearts need.
No critic, no eye can truly see.
The worlds we create in secrecy.
For in the quiet, we are divine—
Using only words and time.
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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