Strange Halloween poems

where runs ,
where dreams across pages,
and your —, , like roots unbound,
seeking under every stone.

With each turn of , a spark, a flicker,
a constellation of painted bold,
you capture from shadowed places,
find rhythm in the overlooked, the quiet pulse.

You are a of colors, of whispers,
a prism bending each moment into hues unseen,
and as words settle like on a sunbeam,
you speak the language of what others feel.

You are the voice that rises, unrushed,
like rivers carving mountains with time,
and the world leans close to listen,
for in your lines, it finds its hidden self.