Amidst the silent cloak of night,
A sweet melody takes flight,
It's the song of a nightingale,
Whose voice is known to never fail.
With every note that she sings,
The night comes alive with her wings,
The darkness is her canvas to paint,
And her voice, a brush to create.
As she sings her heart out,
The world around her fades out,
All that's left is her voice,
That leaves us with no other choice,
But to listen and let our souls be healed,
By the magic that her song reveals,
For in her song lies a promise of hope,
A message of love that helps us cope.
And so the nightingale sings on,
Her voice reaching the early dawn,
For she knows that in her song,
Lies the power to help us carry on.
And so we listen, mesmerized,
By the beauty of her voice that fills the skies,
For in her song we find a light,
That helps us navigate through the darkest night.
About the Creator
Furqan
Ethusiastic writter. Love to write poetry and talk about life. Do give your valuable feedback.
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Confessions of an Empath
The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Nicole4 days ago in Confessions
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