The words dancing in my mind,
They knew my breath, they knew my stand.
Now dust collects where dreams once grew
But whispers call, “We’re not yet through.”
Old pages hum with ghostly rhyme,
Soft echoes from another time.
Do I dare wake what once was still,
And trust the spark to find me still?
The world moved on, yet here I stay
A poet paused, mid-thought, mid-way
The silence taught me how to hear
The heart that beats when none are near
So should I start again, you ask?
Perhaps the joy’s within the task
Not chasing crowds, nor fame, nor trend,
But meeting words, my oldest friend
