In the quiet of the night, where silence reigns,
I find a realm where words take flight.
Poetry, a dance of thoughts and strains,
Unveils the soul, bathed in moonlight.

Each line a thread, a woven tapestry,
Of dreams, and fears, and reverie.
With every stroke, the quill sets free,
The essence of a heart’s decree.

Through metaphors and similes, we tread,
On paths of wonder, sorrow, and delight.
The ink, a bridge from what’s unsaid,
To realms of vision, pure and bright.

So let us write, and in our writing, find,
A voice that echoes through the ages.
For poetry, a mirror of the mind,
Reflects our deepest, wisest pages.