Pages of tomorrow Poem.

Pages of Tomorrow

I cradle a pen like a secret,
its weight both promise and fear,
each line I write a whisper
of the worlds I wish to steer.

The quiet hum of midnight
is my accomplice and friend,
where stories bloom in shadows
and beginnings never end.

I dream of paper forests,
of ink rivers flowing wide,
of characters who speak my soul
and take me on the ride.

Sometimes doubt sits heavy,
its voice a cold, low drum,
but the spark beneath my fingers
says, Ria, your story must come.

One day the words will gather,
like birds returning home,
and I will hold a book of my own
with every chapter known.

Until then, I write in secret,
I write and I become,
for the heart of an author beats
long before the first word’s read or done.