“Tomb of Unfinished Prayers”

by Adena M’lynn

There are days

when words

fold in on themselves—

like paper cranes

in a storm.

When grief grows too heavy

for syllables to lift,

and the mouth

becomes a tomb

of unfinished prayers.

I’ve tried

to name the ache,

to pull it out

like a splinter of meaning

lodged beneath the skin of memory—

but it refuses to come clean.

Instead, it hums

behind my ribs,

a silent hymn

I can’t translate.

Some things

don’t have letters.

Some pain

doesn’t rhyme.

Sometimes

you open your mouth

and what comes out

isn’t language—it’s breath,

or sob, or scream,

or silence so loud

it swallows the room.

I’ve written poems

that bled through pages,

each line

a bandage on something

I couldn’t explain.

I’ve spoken truth

in metaphors

because the real words

were too raw, 

too real.

And still—

it wasn’t enough.

Because how do you write

the sound of your heart

breaking

in a language

that requires grammar?

How do you paint

the color of despair

without making it

beautiful?

Some pain

refuses to be romantic.

Some truths

don’t want to be

made into art.

They just want

to be witnessed.

So if you’re standing

at the edge

of your own story,

and the words won’t come—

know this,

That too

is a poem.