Poems That Build the Sky

“Poems That Build the Sky”

In a small town brushed with morning gold,
Where silence speaks stories waiting to be told,
Poets gather before the sun climbs high,
To write the verses that help build the sky.

They come from places both near and far,
Some quiet as dew, others bold as stars.
Their notebooks hold dreams like fragile glass,
Ready to shine when the shadows pass.

No spotlights glare on a stage so grand,
No bright microphones, no cheering band.
Just honest words, pure as the breeze,
Carried by hearts that long to please.

One poet brings a poem shaped like rain,
Healing those who drown in pain.
His lines drip warm like summer showers,
Teaching patience like growing flowers.

Another writes of roads unknown,
Of footsteps taken when one stands alone.
His poem paints strength in shades of gray,
A map for souls who have lost their way.

A quiet poet whispers of trees,
How they stand firm in strongest breeze.
Her verses root deep in the soil of mind,
Teaching resilience to all humankind.

A boy with laughter tucked in his pen,
Writes lives that start again and again.
His poem floats like balloons in June,
Bright as sunlight, soft as the moon.

A man who has crossed many troubled seas,
Recites a poem as gentle as ease.
His words are sails catching healing winds,
Teaching broken spirits how life rescinds.

Poets here do not chase applause,
They write with honesty as their cause.
For poetry is not a performance loud—
It is truth whispered beyond the crowd.

They know poems do not need crowns to shine,
Nor sparkling jewels or royal design.
All they need is a heart awake,
Listening to feelings most people fake.

The sky slowly builds with shades of blue,
As if colored by the words they drew.
Each poem rises like a floating star,
Lighting the world, near and far.

They read by rivers, on benches, by trees,
Letting their thoughts wander with ease.
Words spill freely with rhythm and grace,
Filling empty air with an embrace.

Every verse becomes a brick so light,
Stacked together to shape morning bright.
Every rhyme forms a beam of gold,
Holding up horizons for stories untold.

And though the world may never see
How poems carry humanity,
The sky knows well the magic they give,
Helping every heart choose to live.

For poetry builds something no storm can break,
It lifts the heavy hearts that ache.
It plants courage where fear had grown,
It gives wings to minds that once felt alone.

The sun climbs higher, the sky stands tall,
Held by poet bricks, strong for all.
Their words like colors spread far and wide,
Painting hope on the morning tide.

Slowly, one by one, the poets go,
Walking peacefully, quiet and slow.
Their notebooks close, but their gift remains—
Stories like rivers carving gentle plains.

And long after the poets step out of sight,
Their poems stay glowing, bright as light.
They linger in memories, in laughter, in cry,
Forever shaping the limitless sky.

For poems are not written for paper alone—
They are homes built where lost hearts roam.
Their lines are windows where new dreams lie,
And their rhymes become bridges that reach the sky.