It does not grace your ears,
but you can hear it.
It does not touch your skin,
but you feel its pull.
It can’t be seen or read
but nonetheless, it guides you.
Yours is the sound of a hammer hitting a nail,
a dark night’s ring,
a stiff wrist and rigid composure.
And yours, it’s a hallway and rooms,
a group with a goal,
a list of complexities
You’re in charge of them all.
Ours are not the same.
Mine is loud, and has been for a while.
It’s a dark place, just you and me.
A desperate plea,
a mind tangled and elegant.
If you haven’t heard it yet, that’s okay
It is there, growing, and evolving.
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students and physicians. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.