caring
A Sentence in Your Life
I am but a fleeting phrase, a sentence in your tome,
A whisper in your journey, where countless voices roam.
Yet, in my quiet brevity, a universe took flight,
Filling shelves of boundless thought in the corridors of night.
The libraries you have built within my fragile heart,
Each word, a gilded memory, a masterpiece of art.
I penned your name in starlight, on pages bound with dreams,
Ink flowing like a river through love's eternal streams.
Your smile, the prelude to a sonnet soft and true,
Your laughter, the refrain that the poets always knew.
I've scrawled you in the margins of the world I hold inside,
Where metaphors of longing in endless echoes bide.
Each fleeting glance, a chapter; each touch, a verse divine,
Your presence is the epilogue where I would rest my spine.
Though I am but a sentence, your spirit swells my page,
A symphony of essence no volumes could encage.
My quiet voice may falter as your story carries on,
Yet echoes of my cadence remain long after the dawn.
For though the ink may dwindle, and time may turn to dust,
The libraries I have crafted will never know distrust.
I am merely passing through, a footnote to your tale,
Yet your light ignites my parchment, a flame that will not pale.
So leave me in your chapter, or let my lines erase,
For still, you are the atlas of my soul's most sacred space.
The Kindest Souls (In a Big World)
In a room where shadows stretched like sighs,
Where time wore slippers and whispered lies,
There stood a soul, not born, but built,
Threaded not from ease, but quilted guilt,
Not soft by chance, but choice refined,
By all the jagged things behind.
She walked where tempests cracked the sky,
Where childhood dreams went soft and dry,
Where harsh words bruised like winter sleet,
Yet still she offered something sweet.
Not sugar spun from naivety,
But honey from a wisdom tree.
For kindness, see, is not a gift
Wrapped neat in bows and morning lift,
It’s forged in fire, steeped in rain,
Tempered in sorrow, kissed by pain.
It’s choosing light with eyes gone dim,
And humming hope when edges grim.
She smiles not out of ignorance,
But as rebellion. As a dance.
As a thumb pressed gently in the eye
Of every grief that whispered: Why?
She learned to bloom where nothing grew,
To soften sharpness, split in two,
And still she laughed. And still she gave.
And still she found more hearts to save.
The kindest souls are not naive,
They know how often people leave,
How promises can turn to smoke,
Yet still, they mend the ones who broke.
So if you meet one - bless the thread
That stitched their wounds and raised their head.
They are the lanterns, fierce and bright,
Born not in ease, but in the night.
The Healing Power of Love
Oh, tender balm, the sweetest art,
A force unseen that mends the heart,
Through whispered winds and golden light,
Love heals the wounds of endless night.
Its touch is soft, yet deeply sure,
A salve for pain no time could cure.
In every glance, in every sigh,
It weaves a bridge where sorrows lie.
Beneath the shadows, cold and deep,
Where silent fears and heartbreaks sleep,
Love stirs the soul, ignites the flame,
And teaches us we're not to blame.
It breaks the chains of loss and woe,
Through gentle streams, it bids us grow.
A symphony of hope it plays,
And paints with grace the darkest days.
When grief has silenced all our songs,
And life feels cruel, unjust, and wrong,
Love bends the air with soft refrain,
And fills the cracks with joy again.
It dwells in hands that hold with care,
In every prayer, in every stare.
In laughter shared and tears that flow,
Love whispers, "Child, you're not alone."
Its healing power transcends the scars,
Unites the earth, connects the stars.
A boundless force, it knows no end,
A steadfast guide, a truest friend.
Through love, the shattered heart is whole,
It breathes new life into the soul.
Oh, sacred cure, eternal grace,
The healer time cannot replace.
For love is more than fleeting bliss;
It lives in every tender kiss,
In acts of kindness, pure and true,
The healing of love renews, anew.