Growth

“We are Done” she cried with desperation

A fleeting sense of resignation.

Our Love on a brink of deep despair.

Of finality screaming in the air.

 

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and [she] is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon”

This regeneration cannot come too soon.

 

Like a Phoenix rising from the Death of Love

Its wings propelling it well above

The Horror of a Love gone by

And in the night we strive to try.

 

Through tears of pain we recompense

And bring our Love into the present tense.

Where flowers bloom in a new light

The rising sun is a welcome sight

 

That I do Love this precious thing

That I have come to know through everything

Through many Loves that we have known

It is true to say our Love has grown.

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