Poem: Poetry Is the Language of the Soul

It speaks in hush between the words,
In sighs the stars have known,
A voice that isn’t seen or heard—
Yet trembles through the bone.

It spills from cracks in broken hearts,
Like rivers made of flame,
A sacred thread that weaves the parts
We dare not name the same.

It dances where the silence weeps,
Where logic cannot tread,
In chambers where the spirit sleeps
Or walks among the dead.

No tongue can tame its wild grace,
No mind can chart its flight—
It rises from the secret place
Where truth eclipses night.

It sings in ink, in breath, in blood,
It dreams in ancient tone,
A tide that turns the dust to bud,
And carves the heart in stone.

So when the world forgets your name,
And storms begin to roll,
Let verses spark the inner flame—
Poetry is the soul.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie