The silence hangs, a heavy, leaden shroud,
Where pride has cast its shadow on the light;
I spoke in haste, too sharp and far too loud,
And turned our golden day to winter’s night.
With humbled heart, I stand before the door,
No armor left to guard my foolish breast;
I lay my sorrow on the chamber floor,
And seek within your eyes my spirit’s rest.
The tempest fades, let now the sun appear,
To mend the thread my careless hands have torn;
Oh, let us banish every lingering fear,
And greet the promise of a softer morn.
Forgive the wandering of a weary mind,
Grant me the grace to make the bond anew;
For in this world, no solace can I find,
Save in the shelter that I share with you.
In the grand tapestry of romance, the threads sometimes fray under the weight of misunderstanding. Yet, it is in the mending—the careful, deliberate act of seeking forgiveness—that the fabric becomes strongest. Let these verses serve as the bridge back to harmony.
