A few days ago, I posted on FB and Instagram a few stanzas of a poem named The Writer. Sharing the full text below pushes me WAY outside the zone of comfort, but don’t we all suffer a little when challenging ourselves? Now, I’m not a very good poet and the meter is off, but I tried. As my cheeks flame red, I’ll press “publish” and move along to other things.
In the quiet depths of midnight’s shroud,
Where moonbeams dance and stars are proud,
A pen takes flight on paper white,
To weave a tale in soft moonlight.
Ink spills like secrets, words take flight,
Across the page, they dance and light,
A canvas vast, where thoughts take shape,
In every word, a world’s landscape.
Each stroke, a whisper from the soul,
In every verse, a story’s goal,
The writer’s heart, an open door,
Invites the reader to explore.
In lines of prose and verses sweet,
Emotions and ideas meet,
A symphony of thoughts and dreams,
In every word, a world redeems.
With pen in hand, the writer’s might,
Conjures magic, day and night,
Creating worlds both near and far,
Ink and paper, a guiding star.
For in the act of writing, we,
Discover truths and set them free,
In every word, a spirit sings,
A timeless dance of endless wings.
So let the ink forever flow,
In poems, stories, let it grow,
For in the art of writing, find,
A boundless realm, heart, soul, and mind.
STAY TUNED! I am playing around with one about mystery writers. 🤨