Words flutter, fragments of dreams,
Caught like whispers in rushing streams.
The blank page stares, a daring abyss,
A canvas of whispers, demanding a kiss.

The soul stirs, nudged by a fleeting glow,
A spark, a tempest, a story to sow.
It strikes like lightning, fierce and unkind,
Leaving its echo, etched in the mind.

The pen wavers, uncertain, yet bold,
Tracing thoughts where truths unfold.
With rhythm and rhyme, a melody ignites,
Flickering flames in the depths of night.

Each line a thread, unbroken, unbound,
Weaving through silence where secrets are found.
Yet words resist, they falter, they run,
A battle begun before it is won.

The heart spills ink, raw and untamed,
From chaos, a pattern, unnamed, unclaimed.
In the end, a poet dares to unmask,
A poem is not written; it is asked.