,

Unspoken

So many words remain unspoken,

As we linger here, hearts wide open.

The dark surrounds, yet feel so warm,

Your tender embrace, my shelter from storms.

There’s so much I wish you could hear,

But the words dissolve as you draw me near.

Your arms speak truths my lips can’t find,

A love that leaves all doubt behind.

I never thought dreams could come true,

But then my world was lit by you.

You set me free, you made me whole,

With every kiss, you soothed my soul.

The moment I glimpsed your silhouette,

A tidal wave of feelings met

The jagged shore of my guarded heart,

And washed away the broken parts.

Tell me you feel what I feel tonight,

That your world glows in this soft moonlight.

Tell me there’s nowhere else you’d rather be,

Than here in the dark, alone with me.

So many words are left unsaid,

Yet they dance in silence, unscripted, unread.

For life with you is a quiet delight,

A symphony played in the hush of the night.

We linger here, no need for sound,

For love in silence is still profound.

How wonderful life is, bound together,

In the dark, where love speaks forever.


Discover more from Poetic Bipolar Mind

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


Discover more from Poetic Bipolar Mind

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

  • Carrying Shadows: The Weight and Resilience of Being

    Carrying Shadows: The Weight and Resilience of Being

    Existence is heavy—sometimes unbearably so. Yet within the weight of survival lies resilience, memory, and quiet hope. This reflection explores the burdens we carry, the chains of thought, and the fragile light that reminds us why we continue—even when simply being feels like the hardest battle of all.

  • My Depression and I

    My Depression and I Written by Kiana Jimenez My depression has started seeing other people. We don’t speak about it. We just wait, for poems like this to be written, For the ambulance to be called, For the bathwater to loosen its grip on a body. But tonight, my depression speaks your name like never…

  • Home in the Hollow

    Home in the Hollow

    October in Sleepy Hollow isn’t a costume you put on. It’s home. The fog comes off the Hudson, the pumpkins glow along the trail, and the legend everyone else visits for a weekend is just… where I live. I wrote this for the village that taught me darkness doesn’t have to be something you run…