The Thorns of Love

In the quiet shadows of the night,
Where moonlight weaves its silver thread,
Love's tender touch can sting just right,
A fleeting kiss, a heartache's bed.

Beneath the guise of soft caress,
Lie thorns that pierce with hidden might,
The sweetest words can often press,
And turn the gentle into plight.

Promises like fragile glass,
Shatter in the grip of fate,
The dreams we build may never last,
Yet love persists, though left to wait.

In every smile, a tear may hide,
In every laugh, a whisper's ache,
The joy we find is often tied
To heartbeats that for sorrow quake.

Still, we chase the fleeting grace,
Through valleys deep and skies above,
For in the pain, we find the place
Where love is both the wound and salve.