Poets

In the quiet of night, when the world slumbers and dreams dance in the ether, poets raise their voices to the stars, their tears mingling with the cosmic dust. They worship the moon, that silent sentinel of the night, for it whispers secrets that only the heart can decipher.

In the embrace of dawn, when the earth awakens in a symphony of colors and scents, we find solace in morning blossoms adorned with dew. Each delicate petal a reminder of fleeting beauty, of moments that shimmer like dewdrops in the sun.

Through their verses, poets weave tales of bones and rib cages, of the fragile vessels that house our souls. In the cadence of their songs, we hear echoes of time lost in contemplation, of love that endures beyond the confines of mortality.

For in the realm of poets, emotions bloom like flowers in a forgotten garden, their roots entwined with the essence of existence. They cry to the stars and worship the moon, for in the vast expanse of the universe, they find echoes of their own longing, their own yearning for connection.

And so they sing, they weep, they worship, for in the poetry of life, in the rhythm of their words, they find a sanctuary where love never changes, where time stands still in the embrace of eternal beauty.

Copyright ? Beatriz Esmer