Upon the desk, a silent stage, it lies,
A realm of keys, where thoughts take flight.
Each button, firm and cold as winter's ice,
Bears tales of dreams, of endless night.

It sings no song, yet music flows,
A symphony of clacking sounds.
The stage is set, the actors poised,
In this grand play of written bounds.

The fingers dance, a graceful waltz,
Upon the keys, they weave and dart.
A tapestry of words, they conjure,
From the depths of a poet's heart.

It knows no rest, this humble board,
A vessel for the mind's vast sea.
In silent whispers, it implores,
To set the soul forever free.

Oh, keyboard, thou art a mighty quill,
A painter's brush in digital guise,
With thee, the world's great stories fill,
As through the fingers, truths arise.