in the quiet of the night I whisper
The nuance of the voice is little seen
to you though you cannot hear
The smallest inflections escape you
in the words that you see and that you read
Trying to find the beauty in the moment
the sentences flow from my mind
Speaking the words of the deep corners of my soul
but no one is present to hear them
They then are written; recorded
pen gliding over page
(or fingers over keys)
The poetry of my heart was not meant to be read
but spoken
PAD Day 14
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