Desires -1

Desires are born—

they bloom with our first breath,

like tender shoots breaking soil,

fragile and green beneath the dawn’s soft glow.

They grow with us—

reaching upward, stretching

toward the light of endless skies,

carried on the warmth of childhood’s sun.

In springtime’s gentle embrace,

our desires are blossoms of hope—

sweet scents of wonder,

whispers of untouched dreams,

each petal a promise

of all that could be.

Through summer’s fierce and golden days,

desires flame and flare,

wildfires in the heart’s dry grass—

burning bright with yearning,

aching to touch horizons

beyond the limits of sight and fear.

They dance with the heat of youth,

radiant and reckless,

pulling us into stormy skies

and deep rivers of emotion.

As autumn leaves begin to fall,

desires soften—

their edges tinged with quiet ache.

They gather like fallen leaves

in the corners of the mind—

memories of longing

turned to rich earth,

nourishing the soul’s deeper roots.

We hold them close in cooler twilight,

warm hands cupping fragile embers,

still glowing beneath the fading light.

In winter’s hush and shadow,

desires are whispered breath on cold glass—

fragile hopes etched

in frost and silence.

They wait, patient as the dark,

knowing that even in endings

there is a pulse, a faint glow—

a final wish

for peace, for release,

for a tender crossing into calm.

And always—through every season,

every turning of the world—

desires rise with us,

falter with us,

shatter and mend.

They carry the weight of our lives—

our joys, our losses,

our endless hunger

for something more

than what we have.

Before the last breath—

that final moment of reckoning—

there comes a quiet question:

how will this all end?

Will death come

like the soft folding of wings,

or the fierce crash of a wave

breaking on the shore?

Will the last desire be a whisper,

or a cry into the night?

Even then,

desires hold tight—

clinging to the edges

of the coming silence,

daring to hope

for a glimpse of light beyond.

But at last—

all desires must surrender,

like autumn leaves drifting slow,

like the soft closing of a book,

like petals fallen on a river,

carried away to places unknown,

to the quiet beyond.

Yet while we breathe—

desires live within us,

eternal flame and tender shadow,

the endless song of becoming,

the quiet yearning to be whole.

---

Would you like me to add a refrain or shape it as a cycle with recurring lines for more musicality?