In the hush between heartbeats,
where silence gently stays,
there lives a kind of poetry
no voice could ever say.
It lingers in soft glances,
in the way two shadows meet,
in trembling, unspoken feelings
that words can’t quite repeat.
It’s written in the stillness
of nights that feel too long,
in the ache of missing someone
and calling it a song.
It hides within the daylight,
in smiles that almost fade,
in the fragile kind of courage
of love that’s left unsaid.
And though the world is loud and bright,
this truth remains apart—
the purest kind of poetry
is written in the heart.
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