Fairy tales made of ink


I long to write,
of sunsets and sunrise,
to move my pen,
with ferocity and life.
I wish to fill
minds with awe,
and move people,
to tears.
I crave to,
cover blank canvases,
with fervent colors,
such that the world,
questions gloom.
I yearn to run,
through dreary woods,
and gather words,long buried.
Instead I write of
heartaches and love,
For an escapade
without a prince is not taught.

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