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Poem

My heart deceives me once again,
I write my poems, but in vain.
I thought my words could bring you near,
That my verse would make you hear.

But still, you stand, silent and cold,
Like an ancient statue, carved in gold,
Perched in an old fountain, still at midnight,
Unmoved by my pleading, fading light.

And here I am, like a lonely moon,
Looking down, wishing for you to swoon.
Begging, as a child begs for grace—
Just you and I, walking by the sea’s embrace.

But the moon, too, is lonely in the sky,
Unworthy of its glow, asking "Why?"

My heart can imagine such dreams,
Yet still, vanity clouds my schemes.
Vanity, vanity, all in vain,
Lies and questions cause the pain.

Why can’t I reach you?
Why does my heart remain mute?
I can't speak with words alone,
Afraid to share what's deep and unknown.

Ah, I see now—your heart belongs to him,
A man born for you, your destined hymn.
But that's not me, it’s never been me,
A cruel truth, sinking into the sea.

Oh, poor heart of mine, full of gloom,
Hopeless again, trapped in this doom.

In this dark, cold, endless night,
I watch you fade from my sight,
As I sit beneath this dying tree,
Its thorns creeping, claiming me.

They crawl up my feet, my back,
Tightening around me, no turning back.
My chest, my arms, they bind me still,
My legs, my head, against my will.

I scream, I cry, I wish to flee,
To run to you, and set me free.

But then, as I call your name in vain,
I feel the thorns release their chain.
I rise from the darkness, my soul reborn,
No longer broken, no longer torn.

My heart, once a whisper, now a roar,
I’ll find my own way, my own shore.

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