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.