Beneath the hush of midnight skies,
Where silent dreams and thoughts arise,
A hand still stirs, a pen still flies—
The love for writing never dies.
In ink, we spill what hearts can’t say,
Through tangled grief or light of day.
Though time may steal the fire from eyes,
The love for writing never dies.
The pages yellow, worn with years,
Still cradle joy, still cradle tears.
The soul that wrote them, long since wise—
Yet love for writing never dies.
New voices rise, the old inspire,
Each word a spark, a buried fire.
As long as stars adorn the skies,
The love for writing never dies.
So write your truth, both bold and bare,
For someone, somewhere, breathes it there.
And in your lines, a spirit lies—
Proof love for writing never dies.
Thank-you for reading.
Much love and Light,
Brenda Marie Fluharty
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