Making Sense

When words spoken aloud fail
and lyrics paint trails too far to follow,
when the melancholic beat,
when the heart and soul and cold air meet,
that is when poetry speaks.

In times of trouble, silence looms beside,
loud, deep, and heavy, clinging at my bedside
All the books on life, on love, on giving, on grieving,
fall beside my wayside.

There's no point to running mouths
There's no answer in neat paragraphs
There's no safety in knowing it all
But there is a solace in the still, small voice,
and within me, it writes.

I found poems when the world felt confusing enough
to only be unwrapped by imagination.