poem: Whispers of Intuition

A hush between the thoughts we speak,
A ripple where the mind runs deep—
It stirs before the words take shape,
A silent truth we dare not fake.

It glides beneath the noise and glare,
A candle lit on unseen air,
A feeling not yet formed or named,
But once it’s known, we’re never the same.

It isn’t taught, it isn’t learned,
No page to read, no prize to earn;
It rises like a phantom tide
That pulls the soul from deep inside.

It speaks in dreams, in sideways glances,
In hesitations, second chances,
A nudge, a chill, a sudden turn,
A lesson felt before it’s learned.

Not reason’s child, nor logic’s twin,
But something softer, held within—
A compass made of whispered stars
That points us to just where we are.

So when the world begins to shout,
And maps of thought are marked with doubt,
Pause—breathe—listen to the space,
Where intuition leaves its trace.