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Description
In hive of quill, a wasp takes flight,
On paper comb, it weaves its sting.
Not just an ink, this venom bites,
To prick the core, emotions wring.

Each phrase, a prism 'gainst the sun,
Through fractured thought, a spectrum learned.
Does it ignite, when all is spun?
This tapestry where embers burn.

The blandly sweet, like moths in flight,
Pass by, discarded, as they drown.
But one, a comet, fierce and bright,
Strikes the flint, with sparks abound.

Line by line, scaffold of flame,
Each word an ember, drifting light.
And in that breath, do not disclaim,
For every dawn will break the night.

If words be thorns, let them draw blood,
Rip open veils, where wonders sleep.
Then, in that wound, a phoenix floods.
When lava flows, our secrets weep.

Description
In hive of quill, a wasp takes flight,
On paper comb, it weaves its sting.
Not just an ink, this venom bites,
To prick the core, emotions wring.

Each phrase, a prism 'gainst the sun,
Through fractured thought, a spectrum learned.
Does it ignite, when all is spun?
This tapestry where embers burn.

The blandly sweet, like moths in flight,
Pass by, discarded, as they drown.
But one, a comet, fierce and bright,
Strikes the flint, with sparks abound.

Line by line, scaffold of flame,
Each word an ember, drifting light.
And in that breath, do not disclaim,
For every dawn will break the night.

If words be thorns, let them draw blood,
Rip open veils, where wonders sleep.
Then, in that wound, a phoenix floods.
When lava flows, our secrets weep.