In the hush of twilight’s glow,
A poet sits, where whispers flow,
Ink and paper, a sacred space,
Thoughts like rivers, find their place.
With every breath, ideas dance,
Flickering flames in a fleeting trance,
Words tumble forth, a gentle tide,
Each line a journey, a heart’s confide.
Her pen, a wand, ignites the night,
Casting shadows, weaving light,
From dreams that shimmer, fears that fade,
A tapestry of life is laid.
Imagery blooms, like flowers in spring,
Each stanza a song, each verse takes wing,
Time bends softly, the world outside,
Fades to whispers, as thoughts collide.
With every stroke, a soul set free,
In ink, she finds her symphony,
The paper breathes, alive, aglow,
In the dance of creation, she learns to grow.
So let the ink flow, let the heart sing,
For in every word, there’s a spark, a wing,
The poet knows, in her quiet embrace,
The beauty of thoughts finding their place.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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