The Spark of Questions
Before the first line, before the first word,
There stirs a longing, quiet, unheard.
A dance of questions, restless and free,
Beckons the writer: “Come, follow me.”
Through the folds of time, in the still of night,
In whispers of wonder, in glimpses of light,
Each query lingers, each muse takes its place,
A journey begins through the boundless space.
What will you answer? Where will it lead?
The seed of creation starts with a need.
And so, with each question, the page comes alive,
A mirror of thought, where stories survive.
When Will You Write?
When will you write, dear keeper of tales,
When the morning mist lingers or evening pales?
Do words not stir in the chambers of thought,
Waiting for freedom, a canvas long sought?
The paper lies still, a world yet to be,
A mirror of dreams, of all you could see.
Do you hear its call, soft yet profound,
Whispering secrets without a sound?
When will you write, as the moments pass,
The ticking of time on an hourglass?
Will you let the silence speak through your hand,
Crafting new worlds where hearts expand?
The muse is patient, yet fleeting at best,
Will you answer now or delay the quest?
For the voice within, so eager, so slight,
Asks but one question: “When will you write?”
What Will You Write?
What will you write, with the world at your hand?
Will it be oceans or deserts of sand?
Will it be whispers, soft as a sigh,
Or a cry to the stars that pierce the sky?
What will you write, in the stillness of night,
When thoughts flicker faint, yet burn so bright?
Will you tell of love, of joy, of pain,
Or dance with the shadows that call your name?
Will it be journeys to lands unknown,
Or the humblest truths that you've always known?
Will it be fire that sparks a new flame,
Or an echo of silence, a nameless name?
What will you write, with each fleeting breath?
A tale of beginnings, or whispers of death?
For each word you choose is a seed to sow,
What will it bloom? Only you will know.
Why Will You Write?
Why will you write, with ink that bleeds true?
What calls your heart to paint its view?
Is it the weight of a story untold,
Or the rush of a dream that won’t be controlled?
Will you write for the joy that the words may bring,
For the echoes they shape, for the songs they sing?
Or perhaps to mend what time could not,
To piece together what memory forgot.
Why will you write, when silence prevails,
Will it soothe a heart or tip the scales?
Will it carve out truths from tangled doubt,
Or whisper the secrets that can’t come out?
Perhaps you write to leave a trace,
A mark of yourself in life’s vast space.
To make sense of chaos, to name the unnamed,
To capture a world forever framed.
Why will you write, the muse will ask,
For pleasure, for freedom, or just the task?
The answer is yours—raw, undefined,
A glimpse of your soul through words enshrined.
Where Will You Write?
Where will you write, when the words take flight?
In the quiet of dawn or the depths of night?
Will you seek the solitude of an empty room,
Or let your pen wander under moonlit gloom?
Will you write where whispers meet the sea,
On shores that hum with eternity?
Or beneath the trees, where shadows play,
With nature's rhythm to guide your way?
Where will you write, on the edge of a storm,
Where chaos and passion gather and swarm?
Or will it be peace that cradles your thought,
A sanctuary of stillness, where time is naught?
Will you write in the heart of the city’s roar,
Where the pulse of life demands much more?
Or perched on a hill, where the sky expands,
And the world feels small in your open hands?
Where will you write, the question will say,
In places unknown or just where you stay?
For the space you choose holds the seeds to grow,
Each word a path to the worlds you’ll show.
The Writer’s Journey
Through questions asked, a path unfolds,
A tale unwritten, yet quietly told.
When the pen will dance, what the ink will say,
Why the muse calls, where thoughts will stray.
Each query shapes the writer’s art,
A mirror of self, a map of the heart.
And so, the page, no longer bare,
Becomes a world crafted with care.
The quest to create is timeless and vast,
A whisper of future, a shadow of past.
For in these questions, answers ignite,
The boundless rhythm of those who write.