Poems are not just words.

 

 

Poems are not just words.

A poem is like a whisper caught between the winds,
A fluttering leaf dancing with time’s currents.
It speaks not in words alone, but in breaths, in pauses,
In the rhythm of hearts that have learned to beat together.

It is the soul’s quiet conversation with the world—
Not loud, but full of feeling, a pulse you can’t ignore.
A gathering of thoughts, like stars in a night sky,
Each line a glimmer, a spark, a flicker of the eternal.

It bends and breaks, like human hands that build and tear,
Full of the grace and mess of life—tender, raw, honest.
In its verses, you hear the laughter, the sorrow, the hope,
A reflection of all that we are, and all that we are becoming.

For a poem is not just words; it is the heartbeat of humankind,
It carries within it the weight of joy and grief alike.
It lives and breathes, woven from our shared dreams and fears,
A fragment of who we are, yet part of something larger still.