No one worries about the lake.
From the shore,
it looks peaceful.
I have become skilled
at looking undisturbed.
A practiced face.
A measured voice.
Hands folded neatly
around whatever remains.
People mistake calm for absence.
I let them.
It is easier than explaining
how much can sink
without a ripple.
The water cleared.
The branches remained.
I learned that pain
can be carried
the way lakes carry
fallen trees:
quietly,
for years.
Emotional Poetry, Grief, Healing, Hidden Pain, Loss, Mental Health Poetry, Poetry, Sad Poetry, Silence
Meet the Author
Malana Kline
Originally from Memphis, Tennessee, Malana Kline is a writer and artist with a love for creative expression in all its forms. She writes poetry and fiction, exploring everything from the intimate and melancholic to the strange and imaginative. Beyond writing, she creates digital art and enjoys photography and crafting. Her work is driven by curiosity, creativity, and a fondness for finding beauty in the details.
Come curious. Stay weird. 🌿
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