The hollow of the hour where shadows cling,
I offer up the reverence that silence brings,
To the altar of a love now draped in gray,
Where sorrow drinks the light of day.
The weight of heavy breaths, the anxious tide,
With nowhere left for broken hearts to hide;
Yet in the shaking pulse, the weeping deep,
I cultivate the quiet that must keep.
To love is not to hold with desperate hand,
But trace the shifting patterns in the sand;
And in the ache of letting go the vine,
I find a secret, sacred and divine.
For in the solitude, the truth is clear—
The absence is a mercy, drawing near;
To love is sometimes stillness, understood:
To loose the heart, as only wisdom should
About this