When the Sky Stood Still
In Inkspire’s heart, where words took flight,
A town of stories, day and night,
Each writer walked a cautious line,
Their ink revered, near divine.
Elder Quill with wisdom deep,
Guarded tales, lest heavens weep.
\"Choose your words, for stars might fall,
A careless tale could shatter all.\"
But Mira, bold with fiery pen,
Defied the weight of Quill’s amen.
“To write is life,” she’d oft declare,
“I’ll tempt the stars, if they would dare!”
Upon the square, she made her stand,
With words of chaos in her hand.
A tale she wove, of skies that break,
Of storms and worlds that heavens quake.
The crowd stood hushed, their hearts in fear,
As Mira’s voice rang loud and clear.
She spoke of stars that burned and fell,
And rivers raging, wild as hell.
Yet when her tale had reached its peak,
The heavens offered not a creak.
The sky, unbroken, vast and still,
Held steady, firm, against her will.
She smiled and said, “The stars don’t care,
They twinkle on, beyond despair.
Our words don’t shatter, they ignite,
The human soul, the inner light.”
Elder Quill, with humbled gaze,
Stepped forth to speak, his voice ablaze.
“Perhaps our words, though not divine,
Shape us within, where they align.”
The crowd erupted, freed from fright,
And Inkspire danced in bold delight.
No longer bound by fear of stars,
Their stories reached beyond the bars.
And Mira’s tale became their lore,
A beacon for the bold, and more.
A truth revealed, both soft and grand—
The sky is vast, but words, they stand.