The writer...

The writer, at his desk, creates all fancy worlds,
And lives a hundred lives in every written  page…
For in his art, he finds the love which just unfurls
And transcends the limitations of the cruel age…

The poet thrives in galaxies that never were, yet are
And weaves his spirit in and every word,
Не walks with characters with near and so far,
And finds his  solace  in stories that have occurred

Oh, happy is the man who’s beyond the fray,
Who lives alive of beauty, depth and truth,
Whose pen a mightier than the sword of modern day,
Who finds the mystic source of his creative youth...

For in his words, he can transport us far away,
To lands of wonder and imagination,
Where anything is possible, come what may,
And we are free from the bounds of limitation.

Let his poetry be a balm for the weary soul,
A respite from the chaos of the world we see,
For in his verse, he can make us feel whole
And give us wings to fly, to soar, to be free.

So let us honor the writer, the poet, the bard,
For they are the ones who light up our days,
And in their words, we find a compass, a guide, a guard,
As we navigate the twists and turns of life's maze.