bloom to love
It’s a fearful thing to love, to let the heart unfold,
To cradle dreams in fragile hands, in nights that turn to gold.
To hope in shadows where the light is soft and dim,
To love what death can touch, and still let love begin.
Oh, it’s a holy thing, this bloom inside the soul,
Like a rose that grows for nothing more than being whole.
No reason pulls it forward, no purpose from above,
It blooms because it must, like we must learn to love.
It’s for fools, they say, to trust what time can steal,
But there’s a sacred beauty in the pain we feel.
For your life has lived in me, your laughter still remains,
And in that bitter joy, the sorrow has no chains.
Oh, it’s a holy thing, this bloom inside the soul,
Like a rose that grows for nothing more than being whole.
No reason pulls it forward, no purpose from above,
It blooms because it must, like we must learn to love.
In every breath you took, in every word you gave,
You planted seeds of joy within the shadow of the grave.
And though the time has passed, and though you slipped away,
Your love’s an echo deep inside, it lingers, it stays.
And now I understand, as petals fall to earth,
That love’s no less a blessing for the weight of all its worth
To lose is human, yes, but in that loss, we rise —
For love, like roses blooming, never truly dies
Oh, it’s a holy thing this bloom inside the soul,
Like a rose that grows for nothing more than being whole.
No reason pulls it forward, no purpose from above,
It blooms because it must, like we must learn to love
’Tis a fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be,
But oh, to lose — this, too, is love, as deep as any sea.
And though death’s hand may touch, its grip is not so strong,
For love that blooms within the heart can never be undone
