Poetry keeps me alive (Marcella Boccia)

Poetry is the breath I stealfrom the silence of the earth,a thief who robs the night of its secrets,and leaves me trembling,naked in the light of unsung stars.It is the fire I drink,its heat turning my veins to flame,until my skin crumbles into ash—and I rise again,reborn in words that echo in the shadows.Poetry keeps me alive,when the world falls silent,when the weight of history crushes my bonesand time, like a shadow,eats away the hours.It is the rhythm of my heartbeat,the pulse that races in my veins,the whispers of a love lost in war,a rebellion against the darknessthat tries to swallow my soul.When I am broken,and the world speaks in curses,poetry is my salvation—a thousand arms that pull me from the abyssand stitch my wounds with ink and fire.It is the laughter of forgotten dreams,the cry of children left behind,the hope that rises from the ashesof a world that has forgotten how to live.Poetry keeps me alive,like the wind that refuses to die,like the ocean that calls to the shore,like the stars that burn even in the darkest skyit is the pulse,the breath,the life that never stops.