Last Letter, Never Sent... Poem by WIN VENTURA

The page was bare, the night was still,
A whisper curled against the will.
No stamp, no seal, no borrowed pen,
Just thoughts that begged to breathe — and then…

A name unspoken touched the line,
But silence blurred each word in time.
What could be said was once so clear,
Now drowned beneath the weight of fear.

No anger spilled, no love declared,
Just truths too fragile to be shared.
The hands that wrote began to shake,
As if each word could start a quake.

Would it have mattered — truth or lie?
Some hearts are not meant to reply.
So every line, unsent, unsaid,
Was folded with the things long dead.

The letter sleeps where no one reads,
Among the dust of unmet needs.
A final verse that fate forgot,
A message meant… but spoken not.

✍🏽 By: - WIN VENTURA