Oh, restless ache that stirs my soul,
a whisper woven in the wind,
you call with voices soft and low,
yet echo deep, yet burn within.
You stretch beyond my mortal hold,
a silver thread, a trembling light,
a distant hand I cannot grasp,
yet reach for still in endless flight.
To yearn is but to walk the edge,
to chase the dawn, to beg the night,
to thirst for what the stars conceal,
to wander lost yet burn so bright.
You shimmer in the lover’s sigh,
in letters sent but left unread,
in lips that part with words unsaid,
in dreams that wake and turn to dust.
To yearn is but to know the ache
of time that bends but does not break,
of shadows cast by what could be,
of steps retraced through memory.
Oh, yearning, cruel and bittersweet,
you press your weight against my chest,
a longing not for what has been,
but for the dream I never met.
I hold you close, though you are pain,
for you are proof that I still live—
a heart unscarred by hollow days,
a soul that dares, that dares to give.
Yearning is both a hunger and a heartbeat—an ache for something just out of reach, a dream that lingers on the edge of reality.
————
I love writing based on topics, words, or themes that others give me. What should I write about next?
