PROSE – NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Today marks the end of National Poetry Month—a celebration we rarely celebrate yet live through daily. Every breath carries it. In a single line, past, present, and future meet. Poets give shape to that breath, making it something we can hold: a line that lingers, a memory that stirs, a feeling too deep for words but not for remembrance. And sometimes, it brings a smile—small, unspoken, but real.

It occurs to me that people are connected because of the stories we carry inside. One can’t help but notice the familiarity of movement and thought. On the surface, they appear to have nothing in common, random even. Yet, one can never tell what the truth of a person is: their passions, their fears, their deepest secrets. We witness those who lose their way, those who rise from the ashes, or the calamity of those who need to prove themselves to people who don’t even know their names—the ones who, like me, are numb.

Poetry

I’ve discovered that it is an entity of its own, composed of laughter, sorrow, joy, tears, family, the before, the in-between, the undiscovered; everything—all of it.

It’s a poem

Only YOU can write.