The Dove

When the sun spills its crimson hue,
And roses lie bathed in morning dew,
A lone heart whispers to the evening star,
Wishing for release from a pain so far.

Broken vows, shattered hearts,
Wounds so deep, they tear apart.
Days and months may pass in vain,
Yet scars endure, etched with pain.

Life yearns for love, selfless and true,
But wonders where such dreams come through.
Now, love is tied to strings of demand,
Kind words slip through an empty hand.

Memories linger, relentless foes,
Haunting dreams in shadowed throes.
The days of love, they softly creep,
Through windows of the past, they peep.

The laburnum blooms, golden bright,
Echoing whispers of stolen light.
Its gentle touch on a bruised soul's plea,
Brings balm to nights of agony.

They said love surpasses all, divine,
A sacred haven where hearts align.
Two souls as one, eternal and free,
A joyful place where life's meant to be.

Yet I, a dove with feathers pure,
Crave a love so vast, so sure.
To feel its warmth, to touch its grace,
Though fate has carved a different space.

I long for wings to meet my own,
A tender love I’ve never known.
If only once, its touch could bless,
This craving soul, this emptiness.