Writers thoughts

I write and write for hours, you see,
With ink-stained fingers, I set my thoughts free.
Words dance on paper, a rhythm, a song,
Yet silence replies, where do I belong?

The clock ticks away, as shadows grow long,
Each line that I craft, feels both weak and strong.
I pour out my heart, my dreams and my fears,
But the echo I hear just adds to my tears.

In each stanza I weave, a story untold,
Hoping for warmth, a connection to hold.
Yet the stillness surrounds me, a heavy, soft shroud,
I whisper my musings but never aloud.

Is there someone out there, a soul yet to find,
Who'll echo my echoes, and share in my mind?
Though hours may pass and the silence may stack,
I write and I write, still longing for that crack.

For every word written, a bridge to the sky,
A flicker of hope, that one day you’ll reply.
So I’ll pen down my verses, with passion intact,
For even in quiet, my heart won’t subtract.