The Lonely Scroll

The Lonely Scroll

I post my heart, I bare my soul,

A piece of me on the endless scroll.

With hopes it lands in a kindly gaze,

A fleeting moment, a gentle praise.

But the stars don’t shine for every word,

And echoes fade, barely heard.

On Vocal’s stage, the crowd is thin,

The battle for likes feels hard to win.

Each click, each heart, a fragile prize,

A fleeting spark in countless skies.

Yet I press on, though shadows loom,

Planting seeds in a silent room.

For art’s true worth, it cannot be sold,

Not by the likes, nor silver, nor gold.

It blooms in patience, it grows with time,

In whispered thoughts, in quiet rhyme.

So I’ll write my truths, both loud and small,

And trust one day they’ll touch them all.

For even if likes are hard to see,

Each word I pen sets my spirit free.

Note So if you read this, just give my poetry a like, please.