The shimmer in your eyes—
A soft glow, a silent sonnet,
A universe where only we exist.
My teary-eyed love,
I don’t own you, yet I belong to you,
And you are mine, woven into my soul.

I watch the light bend in your gaze,
Refracting love like a thousand stars,
Scattering pieces of you into my soul.
The wind whispers our fate,
And I listen, tracing its song,
For every whisper speaks your name.

But if destiny dares to write us apart,
I will burn its pages to ashes,
Ink our names into eternity,
With the fire in my heart.

The veil of trust that graces your head,
I vow to guard it, cherish it,
With hands unshaken, with love unbreakable.
No storm, no time, no force of heaven or hell
Will ever make me let you go.

Be my bride, my moonlit prayer,
The sacred dream I wake to each day.
I will take your hand beneath the sun’s golden embrace,
Trace my lips across your fingertips,
And under the hush of the silver moon,
I will kiss you where our love first bloomed.

Let me be your home, your shelter,
The arms you run to when the world turns cold.
I will carry your burdens as if they were mine,
And walk through the fire so you never burn.

You are irreplaceable—my only, my always,
Not a mere chapter but my entire book,
Not a fleeting moment but my forever.

Let me leave this world before you,
Forgive my selfish plea—
For I cannot bear to see your tears,
Each one a crystal more precious than life itself.

I will not falter, I will not break,
For you, I would walk through the storms,
Through sorrow, through hell itself,
If it means leading you to heaven.

Every hour, every minute, every breath—
I am yours, as you are mine,
Now, always, and beyond the stars.

I shiver, the cold bites deep,
The world an open book—its lessons steep.
It whispers, You must not be you,
Yet mocks when doubt clouds my view.

They judge, yet say, Oh, just don’t care!
If it’s so simple, then why not dare?
I know—I swear—it is not my crime,
To defy the mold, to stretch past time.

I will rise, a tempest untamed,
Like the moon that calls the sea unnamed.
Not a thief of borrowed light,
But a fire that burns through endless night.

Underdogs walk with voices hushed,
Not for lack of spark, but trust—
For even silence shapes the great,
A force unseen, yet sealing fate.

The sky hangs low, heavy with sorrow, A shroud of dying light swallowed by dusk. The road stretches endless, ink-black and cold, A path carved from shadows, whispering loss.

Once, I feared losing— Now, the weight of loss has hollowed me out. My heart, a withered leaf, bends toward the earth, Too heavy to lift, too broken to mend.

The ailing earth bears its desiccation wounds, Silent cracks gaping like a mouth that forgot how to weep. Beneath, the tears fester, trapped in roots of grief. Above, the clouds swell, burdened with unwept sobs.

Little did the mist know— That sorrow shared does not make it lesser. Little did the earth know— That to weep is not to wither.

The laughter of yesterday lies buried, untouched, Ghosts of joy sleeping in graves of time. Memories drift in vapor, unclaimed echoes, Carried away by the wind, never to return whole.

Two roses once stood, entwined in silent promise— To shield, to stay, to survive. Now, brittle petals crumble into the dirt, Wilted souls crossing death’s threshold together.

Little did the mist or the earth know— The roses loved them too. Yet even as they withered, they clung, fierce, Their last wish: to leave behind nothing, Not even the pain they carried.

The rain doesn't fall; it drowns.
Clouds hang low, pregnant with sorrow, weeping endlessly.
Thunder doesn't roar; it grieves, splitting the sky open like a wound.
The earth, once thirsty, now suffocates beneath the weight of too much love.
It begs for flowers, for color, for hope—
But fate is cruel, and fortune never blooms in a flood.

The tree, once proud, stands broken, breathless.
Its limbs, heavy with sorrow, bow to the ground.
Some snap, some shatter, some sink into the mud, forgotten.
No birds, no fruit, no whispering leaves—
Only bare, trembling bones of wood remain.
Once, the rain was a melody. Now, it's a requiem.

A train runs on weary tracks, but its journey is silent.
No laughter in its compartments, no warm hands waving from the windows.
Just empty seats, echoing with ghosts of friendships that never stayed.

The engine—once burning with dreams—
Now chokes on the ashes of what could have been.
It rusts beneath words like "Move on."
It crumbles beneath whispers of "Stop exaggerating."
The coal of passion has turned to dust,
And the wheels—exhausted—drag through the days, waiting for an end.

A track switch, a desperate turn—
But the new path is no salvation.
It floods with hollow sympathies, drowns in veiled threats.
The storm howls, then vanishes, leaving only drought behind.
And the train?
It no longer moves. It no longer breaks.
It simply exists—numb, rusting, forgotten.

I know you're waiting—
Not just by instinct, but by soul.
A thread binds us, unseen yet strong,
And I swear to protect it, never let it fray.
Wait for me.

For your peace, for theirs, I must fight.
Discipline is law, obedience is fate,
Yet my enemy, too, has a family that waits.
Why do we fight, when we could simply be?
Why do borders carve wounds into destiny?

I do not know of gods,
But I hear your prayers, whispered through time.
I will return, my love, no matter how many stand in my way.
Victory matters, but so does the weight of a soul.
Each life I take—someone waits for them too.
Each thread I sever—someone’s world shatters too.

I love you, yet how can I abandon this field,
When my brothers-in-arms fall beside me?
I see their last breath, hear their silent pleas.
I need your empathy, not just your faith.

Bullets, swift and ruthless, know their path.
A soldier's purpose is clear, but is it right?
Our goals are noble, but our road is painted in blood.
The paths we choose, the lives we lose—
And still, I long for you.

Three borders stand between love and war,
Three lines drawn in dust, dividing hearts.
If I return, if fate allows,
Let’s leave behind these walls,
And drive far, far away—where war cannot follow.

I know you're waiting—
not by instinct, but by soul.
Like the silver moon calls the tide,
like roots whisper to the earth,
we are bound by a thread unseen,
delicate yet unbreakable.
And I swear, my love,
I will never let it fray.

But for your peace, for theirs,
I must walk this battlefield of fate.
Here, discipline is law, steel is truth,
yet the men I face—do they not dream?
Do they not have hands that once held love,
eyes that once gazed at a home?
Why must we carve wounds into the soil
when all it ever did was cradle our steps?

I do not know of gods,
but I hear your prayers,
soft as the wind, warm as dawn.
I will return to you, my love,
no matter how many shadows stand in my way.
Victory calls, but so does guilt,
for each name that fades in the dust
was once whispered by someone who waited, too.

I love you, but how can I fear
when my brothers fall like autumn leaves?
Their blood seeps into the earth,
their voices linger in the wind.
I need your faith, yes, but more—
I need your sorrow, your understanding.
Let me be strong, but let me grieve.

Bullets are sharp-tongued messengers,
swift, ruthless, never lost.
They find their mark with unwavering grace,
but tell me, my love—does grace lie in ruin?
Our cause is noble, but our hands are stained.
Our road is paved with purpose,
yet flooded with ghosts.

Three borders, nothing more,
yet they rise like mountains between hearts.
Three lines drawn in dust,
and we call it war.
If I return, if fate is kind,
let us leave this all behind.
Let me take your hand,
and drive far, far away—
to a place where war cannot follow,
where only love remains.