Oh, The Elusive Cracks Of Silence, Disguised As Breath, Yet Not Quite Air Poem by Avery Koplin

Oh—
the fluid of cognition is neither water nor oil,
but a vapor that lingers in crumbling lungs,
turning the cold air warm, the silent mind loud.
It speaks in riddles, not of intent but of necessity,
a language without sound, felt only through pressure.

Oh—
breathe it in—
feel the pulse of thought scatter,
skimming the edges of everything,
never quite landing, always floating just above.

Oh—
it is not memory,
nor is it understanding,
but the breath between them,
the pause that stitches sense into chaos.

Oh—
what is it we grasp,
if not the space between breaths,
where thoughts twist like knots,
and the air never settles,
but always sways, unspoken?

Oh—
the mind cannot contain it—
not in words, not in logic,
just in the silence that grows louder
the longer we listen.

So long to the silence that sounds silent no longer.