In the corners of a weary heart,
Hate blooms like a crimson rose,
Fed by whispers in the dark,
Where love’s gentle light seldom goes.
The echoes of harsh words linger,
Carving paths of bitterness deep,
In silent nights, they point their fingers,
Stirring storms that never sleep.
Like shadows that cling to the day,
Hate finds refuge in the mind,
Its tendrils weaving through thoughts astray,
Binding what was once kind.
Yet in the dawn of newfound grace,
Hope dares to break the chain,
For even in the darkest place,
Love’s light can still remain.