Speak once of lightening,
soft on clouds of grey.
Hear not of thunder's
might beyond the sea.
Sunlight's rays do
brace the standard of
pure and rare
while windows break
beyond the beating rains
of soul's despair.

Would you love me still if today meant forever? When the edge of what is and what could have been are resolved into what is good enough? There I find you--my broken dream. These places in my mind, do they exist as more than mere fancy or illusion's call? I was so afraid to be alone, and with my fear I pushed you far aside. So I wait for you in the night, my broken heart, to cut through my silenced dreams with the strength of hope emboldened within your form.

What do we do in those moments when words abandon us? What do we do when we are left not with comfort and surety, but the complex presence of thought unrealized?

What do you do with the unspoken idea? That which you hold to be good and true and real but which is interrupted by our own being?