Introduction: the poet
I speak him first, we both live to write,
His voice, a feather, soft and so light.
Long black hair like midnight rain,
A messy river masking him sane.
Eyes like twilight, calm and deep,
Shine when admired, and lost in sleep.
A man unbroken, a swan-like line,
Each movement careful, measured, fine.
Hands that hold the pen with grace,
As if the world bends to his trace.
He walks as though the earth might break,
Yet leaves a trail no shadow can take.
His breath a rhyme, slow and sweet,
Each pulse a poem, each glance discreet.
I’ll write his words, they’re on my tongue,
A long lullaby yet to be sung.
ACT l: BECAUSE I MUST
I write because my heart must speak,
Not for praise, nor fame I seek.
The ink runs wild beneath my hand,
A river flowing through the land.
Each line I craft, a tender fire,
Born of passion, love, desire.
I do not chase the eyes of men,
Yet thousands pause to read my pen.
Their hearts are stirred; they cannot know,
Each word I write is for my own glow.
I laugh, I cry, I tremble, I sigh,
My soul laid bare beneath the sky.
They praise my eyes, say “calm and wide.”
Say “your lines burn, please never hide”
I love the touch of page, the scent of ink,
The quiet moment that makes me think.
I write because I cannot cease,
Because creation is my peace.
The candle flickers, what is time?
I lose myself in the rhyme.
I write because I must, because I dare,
Because the act itself is tender care.
And still, though silent, though unseen,
I shape the night, I mold the dream.
Original poem by me. Nara.
