Where did my heart go, my love?

And where does yours now hide?

Remember the brighter days

as fleeting as they were.

But there was love and laughter. 

Before darkness crept in 

and poisoned us with its sting,

there was the glimmer of light

that shone within us.  

But how enveloping was that darkness,

and how thoroughly it sought to destroy us. 

What places it took us,

and all that our hands did to harm,

things we can never take back,

words that can’t be unsaid or unheard.  

Yet we hold on 

as those do who hold on to hope,

and in the darkness look for the light,

though faint at times as it may be,

sometimes barely flickering.

 

But the story of the beginning

does not write the story at the end,

for what was has no power

over all that could be. 

So while the pages still before us are blank,

let us write anew that narrative.

The ink that blotted our hearts

can now become the ink that writes our destiny,

and with vivid water colors let us paint

all that still may be

over the canvas of all that was. 

 

Let us stoke again the fires that burned.

Let us not vanquish the smoldering wicks.

Let us dig again the wells of our hearts

and draw up from there

living waters that we may drink. 

Even the darkest night

surrenders to the dawning of day

and flees away powerless against the light. 

So our fires will burn once more

and so the darkness will flee

as we fuel the burning in our hearts.  

For what power is there 

that may break the bonds of love?

Not even death.  

So we will hold on

one to the other

as those do who hold on to hope.