I’ve watched the seasons turn from green to gold,
And felt the bite of winter’s sudden chill.
The stories of the world are often told
By shifting tides and winds that won’t be still.
Yet in the middle of this restless spin,
Where shadows lengthen and the light grows pale,
I find the quiet center we are in,
A steady spark that does not flinch or fail.
You are the North that guides my wandering mind,
The silver star when all the maps are wrong;
In you, a truer latitude I find,
A deeper rhythm and a lasting song.
Though every season changes in its due,
My world begins and always ends with you.
The Architect’s Vow
We did not build this love on shifting sand,
Nor on the fleeting whims of summer air.
We worked the earth with calloused, steady hand,
And laid the stones with patience and with care.
It grew in moments most would never see:
The quiet peace when all the lights are low,
The roots that tangled deep from you to me,
Far beneath the surface where they grow.
Now let the tempests hammer at the door,
And let the years attempt to wear us thin;
We’ve built our house upon a solid floor,
With walls of trust to keep the warmth within.
For love that’s made of labor and of light
Can stand against the longest, coldest night.
The Eternal Ink
They say that time will steal the brightest hue,
And dim the fire within a lover’s eye;
That even hearts as fierce as mine and you
Will eventually surrender to the sky.
But poets long ago have shown the way:
That words can hold a beauty past its prime,
And keep the warmth of one particular day
Locked forever in a cage of rhyme.
So let these lines be ink upon the page,
A testament that death cannot erase;
To guard your spirit from the weight of age,
And keep the light upon your living face.
As long as there are eyes to find this verse,
Our love shall live throughout the universe.
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