Some write for the eye alone,
for ink that settles, still and shown,
where meaning waits in quiet rows
and rests where silent reading goes.
But I have never trusted still,
I listen for a deeper will,
a hidden pulse beneath the line,
a measured breath, a truer time.
Not just the word, but how it leaves,
the way it bends, the way it breathes,
how one sound draws the next in close
or breaks the line it should compose.
There lives a rhythm under speech,
a living beat just out of reach,
I track it like a drummer’s ear,
the slip, the shift, the almost clear.
One syllable can tilt the whole,
too dense, and it will choke the soul,
too light, and it will drift away
without a place to land or stay.
So first I form it in the mouth,
not born of thought, but carried out,
where tongue and teeth and breath align
to strike the line or make it shine.
I test each phrase on breath and bone,
on how it sounds when fully known,
a vowel held a heartbeat more,
a softened edge, a sharpened core.
I do not chase the word alone,
I follow what the voice has shown,
what lingers after it is said,
what hums alive, not lying dead.
And when it’s right, it will not stay
confined to ink upon the page,
it steps beyond, it takes its place,
it lives
in sound
in breath
in space
Beautiful poem! Love the rhymes and the meaning! ❤️
Thank you, Christopher. Hope you’re having a lovely day. Is I just me or do others have this same problem as I don’t always get a notification that someone has commented?