Woven between the lines there sits a gem.
Unpolished, camouflaged, and enigmatic
it lays in plain vision, yet somehow remains hidden.
It is shy and therefore, it only seldom reveals
its structured geometry to those who look hard.
Every word counts for something,
and each comma or period has a purpose.
Those who realize this simple truth,
see the cloaked jewel with ease.
For a poem’s disguised truth awaits discovery
not just in the explicitly stated,
but also in the blank white spaces.
They are the glue that binds together each
sentence and that which makes poems whole.