When the mournful song plays, a melody that tears the soul,
Don't drown in parting's grief; let your heart hold,
Look within, at the wounded whole, a strength yet to unfold,
A promise of dawn, chasing shadows all withdrawn, with hues of rose and gold.

It whispers, "I am stronger; love will mend what sorrows have wrought."
Tears that flow like gentle rain, a healing touch they've brought,
On wounds that time unfolds.
If this isn't love, then what story is told?

As twilight fades, replaced by shadows of coming rain,
Don't heed the lonely night's grip or the wind's mournful refrain.
Lift your gaze, find the sun, though veiled by clouds it may remain,
Its light, unseen, still paints the moon and stars with its gentle reign.

Hear the world whisper softly, a lullaby of sleep.
Look at the night sky, its darkness whispers secrets deep,
A promise of rain to cleanse, make things new and steep.

If all of this isn't love, a constant and unwavering seep,
Then tell me, what is it? Look closer, and see it seep.

Look and see with a heart that's open and bold,
Would you still call me a poem, tinged only with sorrow of old?

#MoonlitMagic

© 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑎