A Hole in My Heart
for the one who breathes and hopes

There’s a hole in my heart, black as night,
A silent void where warmth once lived.
It echoes with the chill of absence,
A hollow that no light forgives.

I read of love in gilded pages,
Of fire, of longing, of sweet delight.
But the spark eludes my weathered soul,
A candle lost to endless night.

I watch them laugh, I hear them flirt,
Their hearts in bloom, their glances dance.
And mine—so quiet, so unsure—
Feels left outside the world of chance.

For I have loved, and I have shattered,
Been burnt, been bruised, been torn apart.
But still I rise, a scarred survivor,
Still breathing with a hopeful heart.

Dum spiro, spero—so I whisper,
A sacred phrase, my soul’s refrain.
Though decades carve their lines upon me,
That thread of hope has not grown vain.

Yet still the hollow aches and deepens,
A yearning vast, a haunting call—
To feel again that molten fever,
To stand, to leap, to risk it all.

But maybe love returns in silence,
In steady eyes and quiet flame—
Not wild as once, but ever truer,
Not seeking glory, but a name.

So I will wait, and I will wonder,
And tend the fire with gentle art.
For while I breathe, I do not falter—
Though there’s a hole, there beats a heart.