In moments of quiet, pen becomes my guide,  
With ink I trace the thoughts that softly flow,  
Each line a truth that I can now confide,  
In written form, my inner voice can grow.  

The page, a canvas where my heart takes flight,  
In verse I find a language known and dear,  
A structure formed, to shape my dreams in light,  
An accepted frame that draws my vision clear.  

To weave my stories in a rhythmic dance,  
Is freedom found within the written word,  
In every sentence, there's a second chance,  
To paint my soul where only silence was heard.  

So let me write, for here I truly stand,  
With every phrase, carved by my own hand.
In desperate hope that some others understand, that the importance of words is surprisingly grand.