In the quiet shadows where thoughts reside,
A solitary figure with words as her guide.
Sylvia, in the hush of a moonlit night,
Finds solace in the ink, her only light.

The world outside, a cacophony of sound,
Yet in her mind, a silence profound.
Loneliness, a companion she knows too well,
In each verse, her stories swell.

Pages turn with whispered sighs,
Each line a tear, each word a cry.
In solitude, her voice takes flight,
Painting darkness with shards of light.

So here she sits, beneath the stars,
Weaving dreams from her hidden scars.
Sylvia’s world, a tapestry spun,
In loneliness, her battles are won.