Poems

Poems and Roots: The Quiet Strength of Words and Where We Begin

The world moves fast too fast. Notifications buzz, deadlines loom, and screens flicker without pause. Amidst all this noise, we yearn for something steady, something profound. Poetry offers that. Like roots winding through dark soil, it draws us down, beneath the rush, to where things are still.  

Roots: More Than Where We Start

  A root isn’t just an anchor. It’s a lifeline. For a tree, it’s how it eats, how it stands. For us, roots are family, history, and the things that shape us without needing to be spoken about. Poetry works the same way. It doesn’t just talk; it holds. It pulls up what we’ve buried: love, grief, hope, the moments we can’t quite name. A few lines can feel like coming home.  

The Slow Art of Language

Poetry refuses to hurry. It lingers on a syllable and savors silence between lines. In a world that prizes speed, this alone is rebellion. Reading a poem or writing one is like pressing pause. For a minute, the chaos fades. You breathe.  

Studies say poetry can ease the mind and untangle knots we didn’t know were there. It makes sense. When words fail us, poems speak. They say I’ve felt this too.

Writing as Grounding

To write poetry is to plant yourself in the present. It’s taking the mess inside fear, joy, and questions and shaping it into something solid. It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps. Like roots gripping the earth, it steadies you when the wind picks up.  

Earth and Memory

So many poems return to the ground to rivers, forests, and the way light falls on the grass. They remind us that we belong to this world. Before cities, before screens, there was the land. Poetry whispers that connection back to life.  

Why It Matters

Poetry won’t stop the storm. But it gives us a way to stand inside it. It doesn’t hide the hurt; it helps us hold it: a mirror, a hand, a quiet place to rest. In the end, poems are like roots: unseen but strong. And in their depths, there is calm.