The Poet

The poet’s compass is their well of ink,
Their words, sails that catch the winds and think.
They voyage through the seas of untold lore,
Where dreams and truths arrive upon the shore.

At dusk, they wander; at first light, they gleam,
Turning our sorrow into a waking dream.
Muse-guided sparks in quiet hearts ignite,
And paint the soul in shadow, flame, and light.

The plain transformed beneath a softened eye,
A flicker grows into a burning sky.
With gentle hands, they tenderly compose,
And draw the light where silent longing grows.

In every line, a hidden wing takes flight,
Transforming pain to something pure and bright.
Celebrate poets. dreamers, souls who see
Their words resound through all eternity.

Through ink and breath, their spirits rise and roam,
Giving lost truths a voice, a heart, a home.
Hail to the poet, verses born of night,
That echo still beyond our mortal sight.