Love never walks a simple line,
Where joy and sorrow intertwine.
Where there is light, the shadows grow,
And passion burns with silent glow.

You bare your soul, turn inside out,
Give all your tenderness, no doubt.
But that same love won’t reappear—
Just wounds and truths that once were dear.

To love is not just warmth or grace,
Nor promises, nor prize to chase.
It means to die for what is true,
And live through loss for one clear view.

It holds such power, fierce and deep,
Each fault becomes a scar to keep.
The price of love is shards of fate
You lose, and lose, at steady rate.

Yet still you walk, though hearts have burned,
In hope that warmth will be returned.
And if the world should fall apart,
Love still will rise within your heart.

It asks not "how?" nor plays by rules,
It shuns the lines drawn out by fools.
In love, there's chaos, pain, and night,
But also stars and peaks of light.

You fall—but rise with just a glance
That sparks the soul, gives hope a chance.
For in its fire you are alive,
And through its storms, you still survive.

Love is the meaning of all roads,
Though thorns may lace its heavy loads.
It is divine, the endless stream—
In love, we touch the edge of dream.

The wind now weeps through broken stone,
Black dust is drifting, far and wide.
Where families once called it home,
Now only grief is left to bide.

The mines are gone, the lights are dead,
And silence covers yard and street.
Where once warm hopes and dreams were spread,
Now only chilling breezes meet.

A mother’s lullaby once soared,
A gentle song at close of day.
But war has taken, cut, and scored —
Left loss and pain in its decay.

When dawn bleeds red across the land,
And ashen skies begin to shake,
This earth, betrayed by human hand,
Still bears the silence war would make.

The **** heaps wrapped in solemn gloom
Lie still beneath the ghost-gray sky.
Like stonebound memories they loom —
Unyielding grief that will not die.

And what if love’s a myth, a grand illusion,
A tale that humans craft to ease the ache?
A lonely heart, in silent disillusion,
Just sinks where love was meant to leave its wake.

What if from pain we shape it into being,
And fill the void with meaning of our own?
A fleeting warmth, so tender and redeeming,
That drives the night away when we’re alone.

We birth love in the space of expectation—
Its truth, a lie we need to still believe.
Without that faith, there’s no illumination,
And light itself would silently take leave.

But maybe the ones in love see something deeper,
Their gaze cuts through the surface of the day.
Or maybe love’s a question with no keeper,
A riddle time can’t fully sweep away.

And if love’s just a fragile hope we cherish,
That holds us near the edge where shadows grow,
Then should we wait for sparks that soon may perish,
Afraid to burn, yet longing for the glow?

Still, in the sky lives something worth desiring,
And every drop of rain holds whispered grace.
Perhaps love’s just a vision, yet inspiring—
The kind that lights and lifts the darkest place.

For even a glimpse can make the soul remember
The self it lost in sorrow’s silent sea.
Love is the flash, the ever-burning ember
That gives us strength—and soft humility.