The heart endures what words cannot contain,
A quiet ache that stretches through the night;
Yet in the fire of sorrow, loss, and pain,
A subtle light emerges, soft but bright.
Each tear becomes a river carving stone,
Each wound a lesson etched upon the soul;
Through suffering, the self is more than grown,
A broken vessel slowly made more whole.
The darkest hours teach the gentlest truth,
That grief and growth are intertwined, allied;
The weight we bear is tempered in our youth,
And gives the spirit strength it cannot hide.
So even in the ache, the soul can see
The hidden meaning pain has sewn to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem