Two currents wandered, long apart—
one spoke in flame, one breathed in tide,
one carved the world with sharpened will,
one held the dark where dreams reside.
He moved like thunder through the bones,
a voice that named, defined, declared;
she drifted soft through hidden rooms,
a pulse that felt, received, and cared.
He was the edge, the rising sun,
the hand that builds, the path that goes;
she was the dusk, the fertile ground,
the silent depth where meaning grows.
Yet both were halves of something whole,
two mirrors cast from single light—
one blind without the other’s sight,
one lost without the other’s night.
When first they met, the clash was fierce—
fire hissed against the sea;
he feared her depths would make him drown,
she feared his blaze would never see.
But time, that patient alchemist,
unraveled pride and softened fear;
he learned to listen without sword,
she learned to stand, unshaken, clear.
And in that space, a third was born—
not he, not she, but something new:
a balanced breath, a sacred chord,
where strength and mercy both rang true.
No longer split by ancient lines,
no war of heart, no fractured role—
but union deep as root and sky:
a marriage of the self—one soul.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
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