Whispers of the Unwritten

In the hush of empty spaces,
where silence weaves its sacred threads,
the pen lies dormant, a patient sentinel,
waiting for the moment truth sheds.

Unseen echoes of unwritten tales,
linger in the corners of the mind,
like ghosts of dreams that softly wail,
in the realm where inspiration’s twined.

Blank pages yearn for the poet’s quill,
a dance with words that are yet unspoken,
each stroke, a promise yet to fulfill,
in the symphony of thoughts unbroken.

The heart’s whispers, uncaught by ink,
float freely in the vast expanse,
where the unsaid thoughts begin to sync,
awaiting the touch of the poet’s chance.

Oh, the verses yet to be born,
in the womb of possibility,
where the poet, like a dusk reborn,
unveils the night of creativity.

Whispers of the unwritten, a silent plea,
to be captured on the canvas of time,
each line a step to eternity,
as the poet weaves the rhythm and rhyme.

In the quietude of the unwritten,
the symphony of potential awaits,
for the poet’s hand, a conduit smitten,
with the magic that inspiration creates.