In the quiet of the night, I weave,
With every stroke, my heart’s reprieve.
Words dance like fireflies, bright and bold,
Stories whisper secrets, waiting to be told.
Ink flows like a river, deep and wide,
A vessel of dreams that I cannot hide.
With every line, I conjure a spell,
Transforming the mundane into realms that dwell.
A flick of the pen, and worlds take flight,
Mountains of hope, shadows of fright.
Characters breathe, with souls that ignite,
In the pages of night, my magic takes light.
With laughter and tears, my heart spills free,
In the symphony of letters, I find my key.
Each word a potion, each phrase a charm,
In this universe of language, I feel no harm.
So let me write on, let my spirit soar,
In this alchemy of ink, I’m forever more.
For in every story, I find my own truth—
My writing is my magic, my eternal youth.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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