Inner Dialogue of a Poet

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Within the silent depths of night’s embrace,

Where dreams and shadows softly chase,

My inner co-poet walks with me-

A sacred meeting, quiet and free.


I am the whisper, shy and restrained;

The co-poet burns, untamed, unchained.

Yet side by side we breathe and move,

Shaping lines in a shared groove.


My heart listens, uncertain, still,

While his beats answer a deeper will.

He takes the pen with fearless spark,

And pours his fire into the dark.


Like a river wild, refusing a dam,

His passions surge as only they can.

He follows a call that rises within,

A sacred murmur, a quiet hymn.


"They read the lines, but not the way,

Applaud the truth, then turn away.

The verse may breathe, the soul may call

Yet few will rise; most merely fall."


The co-poet’s voice is tender and wise,

Reflecting truths I dare not voice.

And I, through him, find strength and flame

To speak what once had no clear name.


Together we search what lies concealed,

Truths the silent world has sealed-

A dialogue of soul and thought,

Each word carefully, fiercely wrought.


He fears no law, no rigid line,

No measured rule, no borrowed sign.

Unbound by form, by praise or sway,

He writes because he must-no other way.


The Idea arrives in gentle guise,

A quiet light before our eyes.

She does not command, she does not plead-

She simply plants the living seed.


For poetry is freedom’s breath,

A pulse that moves beyond mere death,

A voice that burns, a voice that turns

Pain to truth, and loss to learn.


So let him write through joy and ache,

Through storms that rise, through hearts that break.

For in his words, I come to see

The parts of him that live in me.


In this sacred exchange of two,

My inner co-poet and I stay true-

Not separate, yet not the same,

One soul speaking through dual flame.


So let them read-no need to follow,

For verse is deep where lives stay shallow.

The poem walks a truer way;

Most only watch-it does not stay.

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