PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Even though the road was rough with thorn and cry,

And nights fell heavy on your weathered brow.

Still, morning leaned its gold against the sky,

And dared you to begin again somehow.

The storms have carved their truth upon your skin,

With winds that sang of loss, and rains that stung.

Yet in their rage, they taught the strength within,

The song you’d never known your soul had sung.

But oh, remember, not just dark and gale,

Not just the hollow ache of trials passed.

There were sunrises soft and sunsets pale,

That held you close when nothing else could last.

A hush of fire upon the waking hill,

A lavender goodbye across the sea.

These moments, small and luminous and still,

Were love’s own way of setting your heart free.

So walk, dear soul, through shadow and through light,

And let each dawn restore what storms have worn.

For even sorrow, tempered by the night,

Must kneel in grace when golden day is born.

I met Life on a weary road,

Where twilight murmured in hush-toned gold.

A crossroads stood, unmarked, untamed,

And Life appeared - unshackled, unnamed.

I asked, in tones both sharp and frayed,

"Why must you twist? Why must you fade?

Why must your path be rough, unkind,

A riddle wrapped in weary mind?"

Life chuckled soft, with eyes aglow,

A knowing smile - half joy, half woe.

"Dear traveller, why ask me so?

Have you not danced in rivers' flow?

When I am soft, you dream of fire.

When I am light, you reach for higher.

You seek the storm, the grand, the bold,

Yet mourn the warmth when night turns cold.

Would you love dawn if night were gone?

Would you chase stars if none had shone?

You sigh at weight and long for ease,

Yet scorn the calm as dull reprise.

Oh, curious souls - forever torn,

Cursing peace, yet craving thorns.

If I were simple, light as air,

Would you still look? Would you still care?"

And Life turned swift, a wisp, a song,

A breath of dusk, then moved along.

And as I stood upon that road,

I understood the weight it showed.

For what is joy, if never fought?

What is wisdom, freely bought?

Life smiled and left - no grand embrace,

Just a whispered truth, and time's own grace.