T
he stillness where shadows whisper,
I wander the garden of my solitude,
Amongst the withered petals of hope,
Fear blooms like a nightshade—venomous and deep.
O beloved, your laughter once painted the dawn,
But now it drips like dew upon barren ground,
And I, a solitary bird in this vast expanse,
Sing songs of loyalty to an echo unheard.
What is love if not a fragile thread,
Woven by fingers trembling in the night?
Yet fear stalks me, a specter grim,
Poised to sever all that binds me to you.
I am a tree uprooted, swaying in the storm,
Desolate, longing for the sun’s warm embrace.
Each breath I take is a lament unvoiced,
A dance of despair beneath the stars’ cold gaze.
Here in the silence, loneliness unfurls,
An enveloping shroud, heavy and relentless.
Yet through this tempest, my heart remains true,
A beacon glowing, tenderly devoted to you.
Ah, but what is loyalty in the absence of light?
It bends and breaks in the shadows of doubt,
And I tremble at the thought of losing the ember
That flickers between us, feeble yet proud.
Should you depart, the world would turn bleak,
Colors would wash into shades of gray,
And I, a mere wanderer lost in the void,
Would grasp at memories like leaves blown away.
So as I dwell in this garden alone,
Nurtured by dreams that may never bloom,
Know that my heart, like an eternal flame,
Bears witness to a love that transcends this gloom.
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