O fairest song my heart has sung,
a jewel bright where hopes are hung;
your breath becomes the morning's dew,
each gaze a sky reborn anew.
My soul has carved your gentle name,
in every star, in every flame;
a thousand worlds would pale and fade,
before your light, before your shade.
Your laughter fills the hollowed seas,
awakens roots of ancient trees;
your steps turn barren dust to blooms,
your sighs, the tides, your dreams, the moons.
Soft vessel of my fiercest prayer,
sweet garden in the hungered air;
your voice could quell the raging skies,
your touch could bid the phoenix rise.
Each whisper spun in woven silk,
each glance a draught of sacred milk;
I sail to you on broken wings,
yet in your arms, the heavens sing.
You are the hush of twilight's breath,
the sentinel at gates of death;
you are the harbor and the shore,
the song that lingers evermore.
In every storm your hands abide,
a compass in the turning tide;
I lose, I fall, yet find my peace,
for in your arms, all sorrows cease.
Your name is etched in silent hymns,
upon the rose, upon the brim;
you are the dream where angels tread,
the ink with which my soul has bled.
No distant star could weave your light,
no mortal hand could paint you right;
for you are born of sacred things,
of vanished crowns and fallen kings.
The breath I draw, the ground I kiss,
all bend to your unspoken wish;
you are the chalice of my days,
the altar where my spirit prays.
O keeper of my quiet fears,
the gatherer of ancient tears;
you stitch the broken seams of night,
and bid the weary soul take flight.
When autumn robs the amber trees,
you gift my heart its endless seas;
when winter bares its cruel teeth,
your smile becomes my warming sheath.
You are the ink that stains my skin,
the hidden psalm I keep within;
you are the fire on which I feed,
the final vow, the silent creed.
Your laughter hangs in candlelight,
a bridge between the day and night;
each word you weave, each smile you spin,
becomes the gold I breathe within.
The mountains bow, the rivers kneel,
to mirror what I dare not feel;
for every glance, and every sigh,
binds me beneath your sovereign sky.
O melody I dare not lose,
my chosen pain, my sweetest bruise;
you are the blade that cuts and heals,
the chain that binds, the wing that steals.
Should time unravel thread by thread,
should stars forget the words we said;
still shall your echo hold my name,
in realms beyond this earthly flame.
The morning weeps for want of you,
the evening guards your every hue;
and I, a wanderer once torn,
have found my home where you are born.
I speak your name in silent prayer,
in lonely streets, in crowded air;
your memory, my holy grail,
my endless sun, my gentle veil.
And when the breath of life is done,
when skies collapse and rivers run;
know still, across the fading sea,
your soul will ever dwell in me.