There's magic in the quiet page,
A boundless world, a timeless stage.
With every word, my spirit flies,
In writing, I am truly alive.
The pen, it dances in my hand,
A guide to places unexplored, unplanned.
Where thoughts take shape, where dreams unfurl,
And silence blooms into a world.
In ink, I find the voice I seek,
To write the words I dare not speak.
Each letter strokes a hidden part,
Unveiling pieces of my heart.
It's in the lines that truth can live,
A place where I can freely give.
My hopes, my fears, my endless quest,
In writing, I can be my best.
When all feels lost, and light is dim,
I turn to words, and not to whim.
For in the stories that I weave,
I find the strength to still believe.
It's not for praise, it's not for fame,
But for the fire that has no name.
A love for language, pure and true,
A quiet space where skies turn blue.
So here I sit, with pen in hand,
Creating worlds that understand.
In every word, in every line,
I find a piece of the divine.
