Shuffling Pages

A poem about voice, presence, and the sacred rehearsal of writing

Before I could sing to the stars, I had to write the words.
This poem is a quiet reckoning with what writing means to me—not just as craft, but as presence. As rehearsal. As home.

For those of us who feel more real on the page than in the room, writing isn’t something we do after thinking.
It’s how we become.

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Shuffling Pages

(a reflective poem)

I do not think
I could sing
to the stars—
not without
having written
the words
first.

I do not
feel lost
since that voice
on the page
first sang
to me.

I wrote.
I felt.

A blank page
is a welcome
home.
Won’t you come in?

’Tis you
I speak to—
hiding you,
coaxing you
out
among my words,
on this page,
in this place.

Welcome home.
Take off
your shoes if you must,
but leave open
the door,
so that words may gather—
always.

This page
holds room—
always—
for voice.

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💭 Your Turn

Does writing feel like your voice too?
Or is your voice found elsewhere—on the wind, in a song, in the touch of a familiar hand?

You’re welcome to share a thought, a line, or a page of your own below. Or just linger.
The door’s open.

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