A Tender Tale the Cards Foresaw

He turned the cards beneath the moon,
Two Cups revealed a tender tune.
The cards spoke of soft union near:
love is open, intentions clear.
A promise glimmered, shy and true,
the other’s heart was pure, he knew.

Yet shadows clung where hope should dwell,
his soul still limped from old farewell.
And he, the broken, could not mend,
the outcast soul that pain had penned.
The Five of Coins still marked his name,
a weary boy, still bowed by his old flame.

The warmth between them softly stirred,
each glance a prayer, each touch a word.
He longed to step into the light,
but fate had drawn a darker sight.
He wished to meet other’s  gaze, to stay,
but knew what waited down the way.

For in the distance, cold and sharp,
Ten Swords lay waiting to embark.
For love that blooms in fractured ground
will one day fall without a sound.
And though he yearned for what might be,
he read the swords of tragedy.

So let them dance while dawn is near,
a fleeting joy, a truth sincere.
For though the ending waits, austere,
their hearts still beat, if just this year.
A tender tale the cards foresaw:
a love he might cherish, yet withdraw from awe.