Poem Untold

Poem Untold

A tale untouched by words, waiting to be freed,
Silent verses in the corners of my mind,
A poem untold, where the echoes bleed,
In shadows, the truth I long to find,
But the ink has yet to speak its name,
In quiet despair, it waits the flame.

Unwritten lines dance on the page,
Staring at me through the darkened mist,
They’re trapped in a silent, endless cage,
A cry for release that’s hard to resist.
Each word a prisoner, bound by fear,
The untold story draws near.

The heart beats louder, the silence grows,
A burning thought, yet it cannot be shared,
The tale untold in the night it sows,
A whispered secret, so deep, so scared.
In the mind’s shadow, a longing swells,
But the silence, it binds, it never tells.

What if the words should never escape?
What if the poem is doomed to remain?
An untold truth shaped by fate's cape,
Forever aching, forever in vain.
Yet still, the ink trembles on the page,
Fighting to break free from its cage.

I trace the edges, but still, I stay,
Hesitant, torn between fear and grace,
The untold poem calls me to sway,
Yet doubt makes me hide from its face.
Should I speak the words that haunt my soul,
Or leave them trapped, never whole?

A voice inside me urges to speak,
To let the silence finally break,
But the poem, untold, remains so sleek,
A shadow I can never shake.
In every pause, in every breath,
It waits for the moment, defying death.

A shadow lurks behind the verse,
A secret kept, a curse unreleased,
It whispers softly, the universe,
Calls for the words that never cease.
But I hold back, my hand unsure,
Fearing what truths I can't endure.

Each line a thread, each thought a chain,
Binding me to what I cannot say,
The silence presses down like rain,
And yet, I hold the storm at bay.
In stillness, the poem sways and spins,
Torn between where it ends and begins.

The world outside remains unaware,
Of the words that fight to be confessed,
A song of sorrow, a breath of despair,
A poem untold, an aching quest.
What if the telling changes me?
What if the poem sets me free?

The deeper I search, the harder I fall,
For the untold words that want to rise,
I stand before an unseen wall,
Shrouded in doubt, beneath the skies.
Yet still, it beckons, a quiet plea,
For the untold poem to be set free.

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.