Thrones into Roses

Love is not a whisper lost in the wind—

It is the wind, and the whisper within.

It is not just fire—it is the sun,

Warming the soul till the night is done.

Where silence reigned, it gives a voice,

Where despair ruled, it births rejoice.

A power not bound to flesh or name,

It came from stars—it lit our flame.

Before the first breath of the human race,

Love was carved in time and space.

The Maker’s hand that shaped the stars,

Also sowed love in earthly scars.

Love of God—the holy thread,

That lifts the soul where angels tread.

A light so pure, it blinds the sin,

Yet enters softly, deep within.

It answers why we breathe and ache,

It wakes the dead, the numb, the fake.

When the world forgets who you are,

His Love is the closest, brightest star.

It’s not just prayer, nor ritual's form,

It’s the fire that keeps the spirit warm.

In Love Divine we understand—

Why dust was molded by His hand.

O, Love of Father—like an oak,

That speaks in silence, rarely spoke.

He walks through storms with weathered feet,

So we may dream in safe retreat.

His love may wear a stony face,

But hides a galaxy of grace.

He stands behind with shadowed care,

A watchful eye, a whispered prayer.

He teaches us to stand, to strive,

To be the wind when none arrive.

His love is stern, and yet it's deep,

A sea of strength where we may weep.

Love of Mother—sunlight’s kiss,

The first true taste of endless bliss.

She is the garden where hearts grow,

The quiet moon in night’s soft glow.

Her arms, the place where fears are few,

Her tears—more sacred than the dew.

She bears the weight of every cry,

She is the truth none can deny.

Her love is both the sword and balm,

The lullaby, the hurricane, the calm.

In every prayer her soul she lends,

To raise the child the Lord intends.

O Sister’s Love—a melodic stream,

A shared dress, a whispered dream.

She is the laughter in the room,

The early spring, the late perfume.

A bond not shaken by mere years,

She gathers joy, she dries our tears.

She stands as friend, as mother, kin,

A mirror to our light within.

She teaches hearts to hope, to mend,

To dance again, to play, pretend.

In her we see the world anew—

With colors only sisters knew.

And Brother’s Love—a roaring flame,

A shield that bears no need for fame.

He fights for us without a plea,

A lion's heart with loyalty.

He teases, mocks, yet always stays—

Through broken roads, and stormy days.

His strength is not just muscle’s might,

But faith that walks through darkest night.

He builds a bridge where we might fall,

He teaches pride, he breaks the wall.

In him we find our sword, our wall—

A hero masked as someone small.

O Love of Partner—fire and flight,

The shared star under velvet night.

In gaze, in breath, in silent prayer,

We find the echo of God there.

Two hearts in tune, yet full of strife,

Refine each other, fire to life.

Love that burns and heals and molds,

In tender hands, our spirit holds.

A whisper, kiss, a solemn vow—

To face what fate or time allow.

Not perfect, no—but pure in fight,

A lighthouse in the storm of night.

Now let us speak of Love itself—

Not mere romance or earthly wealth—

But Love that turns the thorns to bloom,

That lights the soul within a tomb.

That walks into a world so cold,

And plants a seed more bright than gold.

Love is the justice kings forget,

The sunrise on the sinner’s debt.

It gives without a need to earn,

It melts the ice that will not burn.

It climbs the hill to share the bread,

It walks beside the shamed and dead.

Love is the truth when lies take root,

It is the song, the silent flute.

It softens wrath, revives the meek,

It teaches tyrants to be weak.

And in the weakest, it imparts

A thunderstorm of burning hearts.

O Love, you turn the thrones to roses,

You heal the wounds no one discloses.

Where hatred hides and anger grows,

You plant the seeds of olive groves.

Where wars are waged with bloody hand,

You raise a child to take a stand.

You do not ask for fame or gold,

You dwell in stories never told.

In quiet acts, in sudden grace,

In every weathered, wrinkled face.

You are the bread the hungry feel,

The touch that tells the hurt to heal.

A man in Love is more than man,

He walks with stars, he lifts, he can.

He does not seek to crush or bind,

But opens hearts and frees the mind.

He does not strike with sword or shame,

But builds the world with Love as frame.

He listens more than he declares,

He humbly falls, and softly cares.

His power lies not in control,

But in the kindness of his soul.

He is the flame that melts the frost,

He counts no gain, regrets no cost.

O Love, you make the sinner kind,

The fool wise, the cruel blind.

You cross all borders, castes, and names,

You burn the mask, you light the flames.

You are the ark in floods of pain,

The morning sun through windowpane.

You teach the orphan how to trust,

You lift the lowly from the dust.

You find the drunkard, broke and bruised,

And whisper still, “You are not used.”

You bless the beggar, crown the slave,

You kiss the lost, the cold, the grave.

O Love, what cannot you forgive?

You teach the corpse again to live.

You tear the temple veil in two,

And let the light of God shine through.

You are not weak—you are the war

That wins the soul and opens door.

Where anger rules, you softly rise,

You fill the earth and paint the skies.

In every faith, in every prayer,

Your sacred name is written there.

You are not bound by creed or race—

You dwell in every hidden place.

You are the voice behind the veil,

The hand that holds the broken sail.

You walk the edge of every tear,

Yet whisper, “Child, I am still here.”

You don’t forsake, you don’t demand—

You offer soul, you stretch a hand.

And so, the man who walks in Love

Is more than saint, is more than dove.

He holds the torch in darkest hour,

He leads the world with silent power.

He lifts, he listens, heals and gives—

And in his Love, the cosmos lives.

So sing, O soul, this song divine,

Of Love that makes the lowly shine.

The Love that makes the heavens bend—

The only truth that has no end.

When all is gone, when time is through,

Only Love remains—pure, and true.