It’s not a gentle waltz,
nor a whispered symphony,
but a tempest, raging wild,
a storm of grief and loss.
It’s the hollow ache,
the silent scream,
echoing in the chambers
of a shattered heart.
In the depths of despair,
where shadows linger long,
love becomes a memory,
and death, a relentless foe.
Grief, a heavy cloak,
weighing down weary shoulders,
a burden too heavy to bear,
yet carried with stoic grace.
It’s the empty chair,
the voice unheard,
the touch unfelt,
a void where once was warmth.
In the silence of solitude,
memories come crashing in,
a flood of laughter and tears,
an ocean of what-ifs and could-have-beens.
But amidst the darkness,
a glimmer of light,
a flicker of hope,
in the love that remains.
For love transcends,
even death’s cold grasp,
it lives on in whispers,
in the hearts that remember.
So when love and death embrace,
it’s not just a farewell,
but a promise,
that though the journey be painful,
love endures,
and in its embrace,
we find solace,
in the beauty of what once was;
the hope of what will always be.
