The darkness of night was torn apart by dawn,
Its fragile edge softening the gloom that had long held on.
From the love his soul had dared to find,
The weight dissolved, the light unbinds.
And the sky—oh, how it dances in the river’s embrace,
Its living waters, a mirror for grace.
He wakes—or thinks he does.
Is this dreaming? Or has he shed the fuzz?
No hum of dread, no weight that clings,
Just echoes of hope, as soft as spring.
He speaks until his shadow tires—
Yet she stays, closer than the shadow’s spires.
Her gaze, like scripture etched on reeds,
Lines that whisper what his heart needs.
In the black and white of her starlit eyes,
A galaxy stirs, infinite and wise.
She smiles, and it’s light—
Not the fierce glare of sun’s spite,
But a warmth that burns through winter’s frost,
Reclaiming what the years had lost.
The rivers, they continue their mournful hymn,
Pouring tears from edges brimmed.
Yet, by her side, they learn to dance,
Shaping dreams in a lover’s trance.
She brushes his hair, her touch so rare,
Calls him beautiful, lays his soul bare.
Her voice—a golden thread in twilight’s weave,
Binding a faith he once chose to leave.
The stars appear like lanterns lit,
Revealing dreams he feared would flit.
Yet tonight, beneath their watchful gleam,
His fears dissolve into her dream.
And there they sit, shoulder to head,
The living with the ghosts he’d fled.
The shadows that once held his heart in thrall,
Fade like whispers to her call.
For she is the dawn, her light supreme,
And he, reborn, wakes from the dream.