I sculpt silence with ink-stained hands,

daring to weave whispers

into the waiting wind-each metaphor a glimmer

in the tapestry of daydreams.

I gather scattered echoes from midnight's breath,

planting them gently in the soft soil of language,

where vivid images unfurl as radiant truths.

Poetry, both tangible and untamed,

speaks in the quiet dialect

of soul and spectrum.