As the pen glides across the page,
It whispers secrets, a silent one.
With every stroke, it reveals the soul,

A window to the writer's mask.
With gentle pressure, it conveys the pain,
A soft scratch, a heavy heart.
With fervent strokes, it expresses delight,
A dance of joy, a radiant light.

In hesitant lines, it shows the fear of the writer,
A trembling hand, a writer's melancholy words.
In bold script, it declares the pride,
A confident voice, a spirit inside.

The pen whispers truths, both dark and light,
A mirror to the writer's inner soul.
It echoes emotions, a symphony of thought.

© Charis'🖋️