Echoes of the Unseen

A poem unwritten, like myths and the gods,
Holds power unseen, to the unreading minds.
Hard to believe, in what's not been read,
Like faith in the unseen, it's where we are led.

To me, as a mother, it's the feeling within,
When the unborn kicks, life's hope does begin.
To the father, it's the longing, a bond to be worn,
A connection that blossoms once the child is born.

Like the burnt canary, both lively and burnt,
To the poet, it's the heartbeat where life is bred.
For the reader, it's a love yet to be requited,
In the heart, excited, a poem unwritten