Has anyone pondered the weight of love's flame?
Or the ache it leaves when none remain?
Both are gifts, though laced with pain,
The heart survives, though never the same.

I linger with lovers in their blissful trance,
Feel their joy in a fleeting glance,
Yet walk with the broken, their tears untold,
Mending hearts once fierce, now cold.

No bounds contain the soul's design,
It loves, it shatters, it dares to entwine.
Each touch unique, yet all the same,
The fire of passion, the quiet of shame.

And all its echoes — joy and ache,
Are pieces of beauty that love must make.