Before the dawn of fractured hearts and pride,
There lived a light the shadows could not tame—
A river flowing from a sacred tide,
That bore no mark of ego, fear, or name.
It was the salve upon the jagged wound,
The alchemy that turned the lead to gold,
A melody that made the spirit swoon,
And broke the dark with truths left long untold.
It held the strength to knit the broken bone,
To stand unmoved when malice sought its fall,
It claimed no throne, it sought no hollow stone,
But wove a bridge of grace to reach us all.
It was the breath that fostered every spark,
The anchor dropped within the churning sea,
A beacon burning through the densest dark,
To set the tethered, aching spirit free.
Yet look how wide the hungry shadows creep,
How greed has come to shroud the holy flame;
They sell the harvest that they did not reap,
And cloak their self-gain in a borrowed name.
They took the gold and ground it into sand,
Distorted beauty for a fleeting view,
And slipped the coin within a shaking hand,
To mask the false and suffocate the true.
The vessel cracks beneath the weight of gain;
The nectar thins, diluted by the thirst,
Of those who trade away the balm for pain,
And put their own insatiable hunger first.
But love, though fractured, waits beneath the dust,
An ancient pulse that cannot be unmade—
It is the iron core behind the rust,
The light that lingers when the shadows fade.
