By morning’s light, my heart did fall,
Escaping from a chest now hollow, small.
At noon, a songbird dared to sing,
“Too soon,” it whispered on fleeting wing.
By dusk, the moon hung pale and slight,
Perched above the fading light.
It was then I knew: love was done,
Its flame extinguished, its battle won.
Kisses faded, skin grew frail,
Eyes shed tears in a final wail.
One drop remained—a token of pain,
A shard of love’s enduring chain.
For love is thicker than memory’s thread,
Yet thinner than the words unsaid.
It roars louder than the ocean’s might,
And falters in the quiet night.
What treasure lies in love’s embrace,
If alive, a triumph, a sacred grace.
But if lost, oh, how it forgives,
And still, in shadows, softly lives.
The sunlit skies, they scream and cry,
Proclaiming: true love never dies.
:: eprobles ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 