|
And now this tale is hers though penned by me,
Each word a spark that bears her breath and fire.
She is the soul behind my poetry,
The force unnamed that kindles pure desire.
I do not own the visions she bestowed,
They flow through me like rivers shaping stone.
Her touch was wild, unbidden yet bestowed,
A gift that made my silent depths its own.
Let reason fail where wonder rules the land,
Let doubt retreat before the dream's command.
For in her gaze a truth no time can stand,
Yet burns in hearts no power can withstand.
I write not just to speak, but more to be—
Alive in her, and in eternity. |
