Poem Untold

I wonder if I’ll ever write,
What has been held within so long,
A trembling hand, a restless night,
The poem unsung, the unspoken song.
But what if silence is the price,
For keeping truth locked in disguise?

Could I release what’s hidden deep?
Or will it drown in endless fear?
The untold poem, a promise to keep,
Waiting for a voice to clear.
But in the quiet, I hesitate,
Bound by love, by choice, by fate.

Is it better to let it be?
To leave the words where they belong,
Or shall I set my heart to see,
What the untold poem has felt all along?
If only the courage could be mine,
To speak what’s hidden, to cross the line.

So here I stand, between two worlds,
Where the untold poem quietly swirls,
A dream unfurled, a secret swirled,
The ink in my hand, in silence, twirled.
It’s not yet time to set it free,
But in my heart, it longs to be.