By JH Sayyar
Beneath the moon, he walks the silent lane,
With heavy heart and eyes that brim with grief,
Love once so sweet now turns to bitter pain,
Its bloom cut short, its season far too brief.
She spoke of stars, and kissed with crimson fire,
Yet left him cold when dawn broke on the field;
Her words, once balm, now echo false desire—
A trust betrayed: a wound that will not yield.
Ah! Yet still he keeps her locket on his breast,
A relic of the night joy that turned to dust
In dreams she comes and grants his soul no rest,
A ghost of light dissolved by time and rust
Though love departs and hearts bleed in vain,
The memory clings, more potent than the pain.
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