I asked my heart, “Do you still yearn?”
It sighed, “The flames no longer burn.”
I asked my soul, “Do you still sing?”
It whispered low, “I feel no spring.”
Then came the dark within my chest,
A question rose, it stole my rest:
“What remains of a life so bare,
Without love’s ache or wine’s despair?”
For love, the blade that carves us deep,
Breathes life into the tears we weep.
And pain, the toll to feel and know,
The price for every heart aglow.
The amber drink may calm the night,
But longing is the soul’s true flight.
A heart unscarred, a lifeless tomb,
A soul unthirsted, endless gloom.
Tell me, O world, what fate is this,
Without love’s wound, without its kiss?
If not for pain, if not for fire,
Do ashes mark what we desire?