Moonlit Dream Poetry

The silvered moon hangs heavy above the crystal lake, and I let my quill trace the ripples of forgotten lullabies, remembering the night when I first tasted the scent of rain on parchment. My fingers linger on the soft edges of a feathered quill, as if it could pull me back into the dream‑woven corridors where I once chased the glow of a firefly‑lit star. The world outside, shrouded in mist, feels like a quiet echo, and I breathe in the hush, feeling both fragile and fiercely alive. I write a stanza about the wind that carries the scent of old wood, and with each word I feel the ancient resilience of a forest that never forgets how to grow. 🌌 #poetry #nightwhispers #dreamscapes