Ramble, Poet.

Only the poet cares

when a pen doesn’t fit the paper,

if the ink is too slow,

or the tip drags,

or skips,

or blots

big dots

of black mishap

into blank space.

And what is a poet?

A translator of sorts.

Someone who can hear unspoken words

clinging to things.

Those words come back

in dead of night

to haunt in twirling thoughts.

An old empty house,

sagging with the weight of stories

silenced into its boards…..

Who will open the door,

pry up the floor

to speak the words

and set them free?

The poet will.


10 thoughts on “Ramble, Poet.

  1. PÖ3TIC says:

    What an outstanding verse! I especially like the line “sagging from the weight of stories silenced into its boards”, such a beautiful description!

    • Amber Glows of a Slow Burn says:

      Thank you so much for reading and for the comments! Your time and reflection on my words is very much appreciated!

      • PÖ3TIC says:

        You are most welcome! I am really enjoying your writing, there is a depth of understanding that comes through in your words that I rarely encounter and it is very refreshing!

  2. Ray Sharp says:

    very cool, i like this poem

  3. Bianca says:

    They sure will 🙂

  4. who will set them free? the poet will…Exactly! I enjoyed your very apt description of the poet’s work. Thanks. Nice to meet you.

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