In the shadows of silence, you weave your spell,
A tapestry of words, intricate and swell.
Though few may find them, your lines still shine,
A constellation of thought, divine
Your poetry is a lantern, lit in the night,
Guiding those who stumble, through the dark of life.
Though unread, your words still hold their gentle might,
A soothing balm for souls, lost in the fight.
In the secret chambers of your heart, you write,
A symphony of emotions, a dance of light.
Your pen is a wand, conjuring worlds unseen,
A magic that transforms, and makes the heart serene.
So let your words flow, like a river's stream,
And trust that they will find, their way to a dream.
For in the act of writing, you are free and clear,
A poet, unread, yet full of hope and cheer
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 2:47 AM UTC
In the shadows of silence, you weave your spell,
A tapestry of words, intricate and swell.
Though few may find them, your lines still shine,
A constellation of thought, divine
Your poetry is a lantern, lit in the night,
Guiding those who stumble, through the dark of life.
Though unread, your words still hold their gentle might,
A soothing balm for souls, lost in the fight.
In the secret chambers of your heart, you write,
A symphony of emotions, a dance of light.
Your pen is a wand, conjuring worlds unseen,
A magic that transforms, and makes the heart serene.
So let your words flow, like a river's stream,
And trust that they will find, their way to a dream.
For in the act of writing, you are free and clear,
A poet, unread, yet full of hope and cheer
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