Here, I suffer—not from wounds of flesh,
But from the torment of the mind’s cruel mesh.
Each thought a thread, each thread a chain,
Binding my soul in silent pain.
I am abused by time’s relentless hand,
That parts two hearts meant to stand.
Not in conflict, nor in spite,
But by the ticking of day to night.
Time does not wound like blade or flame,
It steals in silence, without name.
It pulls you far, while I remain,
A shadow wrapped in sweet refrain.
I call your name in midnight air,
But only echoes answer there.
My heart still knows the rhythm true
Of every breath that once was you.
Yet I believe—no, I know—deep down,
Fate will not let this love be drowned.
Time, too, shall one day weave,
Two destined souls it will conceive.
If I had the power, I’d hold time still,
Freeze the stars by sheerest will.
Let sun and moon forget their dance,
To give our story one more chance.
I’d build a world where clocks don’t chime,
Where love exists outside of time.
A space untouched by age or end,
Where soul meets soul, as lover and friend.
And there we’d stay—beyond space’s will—
In silent peace, in golden still.
No ticking hours, no fleeting start,
Just the eternal union of soul and heart.