Poet Bird

Perched on the precipice of perception, Feathers ruffled by gusts of inspiration, The poet-bird surveys the landscape of language. Twigs of truth plucked from reality's branches, Woven with the silk of imagination, A nest of narrative takes shape. Each word is a fiber, Each line a thread, Interlaced with the invisible string of rhythm. Dive deep, weaver-poet, into the ocean of observation, Resurface with pearls of wisdom, String them carefully on your verse necklace. Your beak, a pen dipped in the ink of experience, Scratches meaning onto the bark of existence. Your song, a siren call to the slumbering soul. In this aviary of ideas, You are both architect and inhabitant, Builder and dweller, Creator and creation. Weave on, word-bird, Let your nest of knowledge grow, Until it cradles the very sky, And truth finds a home in your meticulously crafted lines. For in your weaving lies the unravelling, Of falsehoods and façades, And in your song echoes the silence, That speaks louder than any noise. Poet-weaver, truth-seeker, Your wings span the chasm between what is and what could be. Fly on, and let your verses be the bridges That carries us all to understanding.