The Weight of Returning.

The lamp remembers both its flame and ash;
It burns with mercy, yet it knows the night.
Old wounds, like embers, flicker when we clash,
But tender hands still guard the fragile light.

Your voice is winter softened into spring,
A song half-broken, still the song I knew.
It trembles on the air, yet dares to sing,
And every note remakes the world as new.

But trust is earth not easily restored;
It asks for roots, not promises alone.
Still, in the soil where bitter tears have poured,
I find a seed that reaches toward its throne.

So let us walk with shadows at our side,
For even dark and light can live allied.