July 26, 2025
The Years Unchosen
How foolish—my poor Offering—
Years—like fragile Petals—laid
Within a careless Palm—
To bloom—
A Garden wrought of Time.
Seven Suns—
Yet ne’er a Promise—
He lingered—
A Shadow—rootless—
Why?
Was I—a quiet Harbor—
Where storm-worn Sails might rest—
But never Moor?—
Solace—
Not the Heart’s Home?
And yet—
We laughed—as Children do—
We learned—beneath a Sky—
That forgot to Weep—
No—
This Love—was not in Vain—
I was Whole—
Though his Devotion hovered—
A Ghost—on Eternity’s Edge—
He stayed—
Not to build a Home—
But only—to be Warmed.
The Years Unchosen
How foolish seemed my offering—
Years, like fragile petals—
Laid within his careless palm,
Hoping they might bloom—
A garden wrought from time.
Seven circles of the sun—
Yet he ne’er vowed to tarry—
Though still he lingered—
A shadow without root—
Why?
Was I a quiet harbor—
Where tempest-weary sails could rest—
But never moor—
Merely solace—
Not the harbor’s heart?
And yet—
We laughed as children do—
We learned beneath the heavens—
That forgot to weep—
No—
This love was not in vain—
I was whole—
Though his devotion hovered—
A ghost upon the edge—
Of eternity—
He stayed—
Not to build a home—
But only to be warmed.