Where Poets Gather Light

In a circle made of verses, where quiet hearts unite,
Poets gather in the morning to share their seeds of light.
They paint the air with whispers that rise like gentle rain,
Turning shadows into colors, turning sorrow into gain.

Their pens become small lanterns that warm the drifting air,
Each word a calm reminder that someone, somewhere, cares.
They speak of broken pathways that hope can still repair,
They weave the threads of silence into something bright and rare.

No voice tries to be louder, no dream is pushed aside—
For in this poets’ kingdom, all wounds are dignified.
Each line becomes a healing, each rhyme a guiding hand,
They lift the world together the way true spirits stand.

And when the sun grows stronger, their verses start to fly,
They settle on the hearts of those who thought they couldn’t try.
For poetry is a river that keeps the spirit bright—
And poets, ever gentle, are keepers of the light.