Being loved — her sweetest dream,
A wish she whispered in moonlight’s gleam.
She prayed to God with trembling heart,
“Teach me love, and where to start.”
The Lord then spoke in a voice so still,
“If you seek love, you must bend your will.
Be mute, my child — do not reply,
Just listen, obey, and never ask why.
For love,” He said, “you must bear the pain,
And smile though your soul is split in twain.
Hide your wounds where none can see,
And call your silence serenity.
To be loved,” He said, “you must not exist,
Be a shadow, a breath, a ghost once kissed.
Never think, never resist,
Lose yourself in love’s cruel mist.”
The world adores the gentle kind,
Who break in secret, yet never mind.
Who nod at orders, hush their cries,
And trade their truth for painted lies.
She danced for love, with bleeding feet,
To music cold, yet bittersweet.
Each nod, each bow, each broken chord,
A prayer unanswered to her Lord.
For being loved — that sacred flame,
Was but a fantasy, soft by name.
She yearned, she waited, she forgave,
Yet love denied her — even the grave.
And so she slept, her dream unspoken,
A heart once whole, forever broken.
For all she wanted — all she craved,
Was love, the gift she never braved.
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