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In the shadowed realm of thought, where whispers dwell,
A blog’s dark ink becomes a mystic spell,
To stir the soul, to rouse the dormant mind,
In words, the truths we often hide, we find.
A quill of fire, dipped in wisdom’s well,
Writes tales of light, where silent shadows fell.
The words, like raven’s wings, in night do soar,
Unlocking secrets, hidden at our core.
Oh, reader, who dares to glimpse the screen,
Where thoughts, like phantoms, dance in shades unseen,
What stirs within your heart, so cold or warm,
When faced with inked ideas that twist and form?
Does sarcasm, sharp and bitter, rise within?
A blade, perhaps, to mask a deeper sin?
Or do you find in jest a sweet embrace,
A mirror to your soul, with hidden grace?
The writer’s hand, unseen, yet ever near,
Holds up the glass, and whispers, “Look, my dear.”
In every line, a secret truth does lie,
And in your thoughts, the writer’s spirit spies.
The mind, it dances, to the rhythm’s beat,
A poem of ideas, dark and sweet.
Each line a step, in shadows soft and deep,
Where dreams and fears and hopes in silence creep.
Oh, how the words provoke, and how they burn,
In every phrase, a twist, a subtle turn.
What stirs within your breast, as you do read?
A hunger, or a wound that still does bleed?
For in this dance of ink and thought and flame,
We play a game, yet never speak its name.
The truth of who we are, so tightly wound,
In every comment left, in silence found.
So write, oh writer, with your quill of fire,
And let your words climb ever higher.
For in the reader’s mind, a spark will catch,
And in that blaze, the truth you sought, will match.
The raven calls, from shadows deep and wide,
Its echo, in the reader’s heart, will bide.
And in that call, a truth will soon be known,
In every word, the seeds of thought are sown.
Thus, let the blog be more than just a scroll,
A map, perhaps, to guide the wandering soul.
For in the written word, both bright and dark,
Lies hidden truths that leave their lasting mark.
So, reader, heed the words upon the page,
For in their depths, a silent war does wage.
The truth of who you are, it seeks to rise,
In every line, a glimpse of hidden skies.
The quill is laid to rest, the ink runs dry,
Yet in the mind, the words will never die.
For what is written here, both soft and stern,
Is but a spark, to make your spirit burn.
A poem, yes, in Poe’s own shadowed way,
To lead you through the night, and to the day.
For in this verse, a mirror you will find,
Reflecting back the truth of your own mind.
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Ah, I was thinking of Edgar Alan Poe when I read the line that began with the raven, and then of course, you got there. This is beautiful. Nicely written.
Thank you very much, Sheila! I’m glad you enjoyed it. I really appreciate you sharing it as well. Have a great night! 😎
You’re so welcome, John. Cheers!
🥂😎
Loved this! Very well written 😊
Thank you very much, Laura! I’m glad you enjoyed it. Your feedback is always appreciated. 😎
You’re always welcome 🙏 😊
Very nice👍
Thank you very much! 😎