The Joy of Scribbling, an Ode

Describe one habit that brings you joy.

O sacred pen, O parchment pure and white,
In thee, I find my soul’s delight,
For within thy boundless realm of ink,
My thoughts and dreams converge and sync.

With every stroke, a world is born,
A canvas vast where ideas are sworn,
To dance and play upon the page,
In timeless tale or fervent rage.

The rustling sound of paper’s kiss,
A symphony of endless bliss,
Each word a note, each phrase a song,
In writing’s embrace, I belong.

O muse, thou art my guiding star,
In realms of fiction, near and far,
Thy whispering voice, a gentle breeze,
That carries me through stormy seas.

From dawn’s first light to twilight’s hue,
In writing, I am ever new,
A creator, a dreamer, a humble scribe,
Inking out the pulse of life’s tide.

In poetry’s sweet, rhythmic flow,
Or prose where deeper meanings grow,
The joy of writing fills my heart,
A treasured gift, an endless art.

With pen in hand, I’m never alone,
In every word, a seed is sown,
Of thoughts profound or simple cheer,
In writing, all is bright and clear.

So let the ink run swift and free,
A testament to creativity,
For in this joy, I find my truth,
An eternal flame, a fountain of youth.