#quietpower - Hello Poetry

There are days when the world forgets to open, when the handle stays cold in my hand and the room behind it hums without me. Once, that kind of silence hollowed me out. Today, it only stings. I have learned that absence is not a verdict, only a doorway holding its breath. I stand in that pause until my pulse finds its rhythm again. Strength returns in small increments, like a room warming after someone finally turns the radiator on. Slow, but certain. I am not what was done to me. I set the chair back under the table after waiting alone. The gesture is small, but it steadies me. And when the next door opens, as doors eventually do, I will cross its threshold like someone who knows the ground will hold.

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Feb 9

Feb 9, 2026 at 2:15 PM UTC

VerseBuster

After the Door Stayed Closed

There are days when the world forgets to open, when the handle stays cold in my hand and the room behind it hums without me. Once, that kind of silence hollowed me out. Today, it only stings. I have learned that absence is not a verdict, only a doorway holding its breath. I stand in that pause until my pulse finds its rhythm again. Strength returns in small increments, like a room warming after someone finally turns the radiator on. Slow, but certain. I am not what was done to me. I set the chair back under the table after waiting alone. The gesture is small, but it steadies me. And when the next door opens, as doors eventually do, I will cross its threshold like someone who knows the ground will hold.

22

The Unseen Anchor “Even in silence, steadfastness shapes life’s every course.” The tide pulls hard against the rusted pier, Dragging the salt-crust shadows toward the deep. Below the surface, something holds its breath, An unseen anchor humming in the sleep of stone. It does not fight the current's frantic pull, But gathers weight from all the silence kept. Each memory it bears is knotted tight with years, Holding fast what drifted, though the world has leapt. Above, the white-caps chase a ghost of foam, While deep in silt, the iron finds its home. No eye can see the steadfast pulse below, Yet every wave submits to what it cannot know. The storm may scream its hollow, frantic pride, But cannot break the strength that chooses to abide. In its shadow, drifting things find sudden pause, And even lost ships whisper thanks without a cause. It is the silent vow beneath the swell, The secret strength that words can never tell. Forever moored where unseen currents bend, An anchor holds, beginning where we end.

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Jan 31

Jan 31, 2026 at 2:36 PM UTC

VerseBuster

The Unseen Anchor

The Unseen Anchor “Even in silence, steadfastness shapes life’s every course.” The tide pulls hard against the rusted pier, Dragging the salt-crust shadows toward the deep. Below the surface, something holds its breath, An unseen anchor humming in the sleep of stone. It does not fight the current's frantic pull, But gathers weight from all the silence kept. Each memory it bears is knotted tight with years, Holding fast what drifted, though the world has leapt. Above, the white-caps chase a ghost of foam, While deep in silt, the iron finds its home. No eye can see the steadfast pulse below, Yet every wave submits to what it cannot know. The storm may scream its hollow, frantic pride, But cannot break the strength that chooses to abide. In its shadow, drifting things find sudden pause, And even lost ships whisper thanks without a cause. It is the silent vow beneath the swell, The secret strength that words can never tell. Forever moored where unseen currents bend, An anchor holds, beginning where we end.

22

I am not loud, but my silence speaks truth. I am misunderstood, yet my heart stays kind. I trust carefully, but when I do, it’s real. I am not perfect, but I am genuine, honest in every feeling, true in every word. I may be fragile, but I am strong enough to hold love, to protect it, and to let it grow. I am me — and that is enough. I am the right person, even if the world doesn’t always see it.

0

Nov 5, 2025

Nov 5, 2025 at 11:45 PM UTC

Arna_writes

I Am the Right Person

I am not loud, but my silence speaks truth. I am misunderstood, yet my heart stays kind. I trust carefully, but when I do, it’s real. I am not perfect, but I am genuine, honest in every feeling, true in every word. I may be fragile, but I am strong enough to hold love, to protect it, and to let it grow. I am me — and that is enough. I am the right person, even if the world doesn’t always see it.

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