The marble of my life was cold and rough,
A jagged stone with edges sharp and wide.
I thought the lonely stillness was enough,
With nothing but the empty space inside.
But then your spirit moved like artisan’s hands,
To find the hidden shape within the block;
To loosen all the heavy, iron bands,
And find the living pulse beneath the rock.
You did not seek to change the grain or hue,
But polished what was buried in the dark,
Until the light could finally whistle through,
And wake the sleeping, long-forgotten spark.
Now every curve and line that you have traced,
Is beauty that the years cannot efface.
The Alchemist’s Fire
I spent my youth in search of common gold,
In chasing glimmers on a shallow stream.
I gathered up the things that could be sold,
And mistook the flicker for the dream.
But love is not a metal to be weighed,
Or coins to keep within a wooden chest;
It is the fire in which the soul is made,
The crucible that puts the heart to test.
You turned my leaden hours into light,
By breathing heat into the cooling ash;
You stood beside me through the longest night,
Until the morning gave its golden flash.
The wealth I have is not in what I own,
But in the chemistry that we have known.
The Traveler’s Map
I’ve walked the miles of many distant lands,
And seen the sun descend on foreign seas;
I’ve felt the grit of desert-blown sands,
And heard the wind through ancient, olive trees.
But every road was just a winding way,
A circle that would lead me back to start;
I lived within a restless, vast delay,
Without a home to harbor in my heart.
Now I have ceased the craving for the trail,
The need to see what lies beyond the hill;
For in your eyes, I find a grander scale,
A landscape that is beautiful and still.
The map is closed, the weary journey ends,
Where your soul starts and where my spirit bends.
No comments:
Post a Comment