The storm is o’er, the heavy clouds depart,
The ghost of yesterday now fades from sight;
I feel the rhythm of a mended heart,
That beats anew with freedom and delight.
Cold winter leaves the garden of my soul,
And spring returns to heal the wounds of old;
No longer bound by sorrow’s dark control,
I spin my grief into a thread of gold.
These scars I bear are marks of battles won,
A sacred map written upon the skin;
I fear no void, nor shadow of the sun,
For now I hold the azure sky within.
To love again shall be a sweet refrain,
Yet now I prize this liberty I find;
The morning star ascends above the plain,
And leaves the broken chains of night behind.
In the grand tradition of the Romantics, this piece acknowledges that true beauty often blooms from the soil of despair. It is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, asserting that while love may break us, it is self-love that makes us whole again. The horizon is not empty; it is merely waiting to be painted.
