The Silent Poets

In quiet rooms where shadows linger,

The silent poets place their fingers

On pages worn, with ink that fades,

A heart poured out in quiet shades.

Their words are soft, like whispered sighs,

Beneath the weight of uncried eyes.

They write of pain, of love once lost,

Of dreams that came at too high a cost.

The world may never hear their voice,

For silence is their only choice.

They craft their poems with trembling hands,

A world of sorrow no one understands.

And though their lines are filled with grief,

There’s beauty in their soft belief.

For in the dark, their hearts still beat,

A poet’s sadness bittersweet.

So let their words remain unknown,

For sometimes sorrow is best left shown.

The silent poets, full of grace,

Speak truths the world could not embrace.