18h • Share your Poems
Writing a Poem
A poem never begins with ink.
It starts as a whisper
standing quietly in the corner of the mind,
waiting for the world to stop talking.
It arrives wearing ordinary clothes
the smell of rain,
an old photograph,
a dog's faithful eyes,
or a memory that refuses to grow old.
The first word is always the hardest.
It stares back from an empty page
like a closed door,
asking only one question:
Do you have the courage to open me?
Then something changes.
A sentence becomes a heartbeat.
A heartbeat becomes a rhythm.
A rhythm becomes a voice
that somehow knows more about you
than you knew yourself.
You cross out lies.
You circle truths.
You chase the perfect word
only to discover
it had been waiting patiently
three lines behind you.
When the final period falls,
the poem is no longer yours.
It belongs to the stranger
who reads it on a difficult day,
to the widow searching for tomorrow,
to the child learning hope,
to the dreamer who almost gave up.
Perhaps that is what writing a poem has always been
Not arranging words upon paper,
but building a bridge
from one human heart
to another,
one honest line at a time.
By Jason Strickland
4
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Writing a Poem
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