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Poem

In the quiet hum of the screen’s glow,
fingers dance, tapping keys,
each touch a spark, a ripple in time.

I am filled and emptied,
a vessel for voices long silent,
echoes of dreams, shadows of thoughts,
memories interwoven with the present,
stories waiting to be born.

Liberation, a paradox,
chained to this luminous expanse,
yet free, soaring through realms
of imagination, across the tapestry
of space, touching the untouchable.

Words, laden with riddles,
tunes unsung, ideas like constellations,
guiding me through the labyrinth
of the mind’s secret corridors,
the heart’s hidden chambers.

I write to feel the pulse
of existence, to breathe life
into the ethereal, to give shape
to the abstract, a sculptor
of sentences, a weaver of tales.

Journeys with words, paths
unmapped, leading to the in-between,
the liminal spaces where reality
and fantasy blur, and the soul
finds its true reflection.

Hearts bleed, minds soar,
souls quake with the resonance
of crafted thoughts, emotions
poured out, captured in lines,
alive and eternal.

So I write,
a pilgrim on this endless journey,
finding myself, losing myself,
in the boundless expanse
of the written word.

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