do not write to impress others
while your truths shiver beneath
the heart's surface
with memories inked in sepia tones
your fingers tracing their muted scents
as Braille while eyes kneel in meditation
instead enter your mind with reverence
wander its marbled halls barefoot
feel time's sacred parabola
steering toward winter
your fingers splayed
upon life's frozen glass
push silence open
allow the celestial light
to sink between
cracked teeth
honor your voice
feel its angelic hymn
rising as a melody above
the sylvan landscape
until your thoughts
coalesce as snowfall
blanketing earth's skin
with love
When poetry falls upon deaf ears and your words sliver from silence, write anyway. For the poet does not write for ceremony, but for the heart.