With every stroke of their brush
They paint worlds where dreams rush.

With every drop of ink,
They make a million think.

With each and every word,
Boundaries of reality blurred.

With just a simple line,
They sing tales of an ancient time.

They reach where eyes can't meet
And mend wounds that time can't heal.

They touch you where the hands couldn't
Because that's what poets do.



© deardiary