I don’t have a title or an author for this poem, but it strikes a chord.
This is why I read poetry. It has a way of saying what I am not saying. It defines the silence. It fills the absence with the fire of an emotion I can’t give into. It crystallizes the want through a language only the soul speaks.
I walk a lot alone, in silence except for the healing power of music, which is its own kind of poetry.
There will be, as always, no grand confessions only a pause to chose the right word, or not as the case may be.
Sometimes I fill the void with flowers.