It was maybe just a whisper.
You and I,
Sitting by the window
And waiting for the sun to burn.
Watching as the wind blew steadily
And the leaves fell to the ground.
And this whisper,
As soft as it was inaudible
Became a voice.
Something distinct
Yet residing in the background.
The skies were turning grey
And there loomed this morbid
Atmosphere of unfortunate misery
Mingled with a sense of lost cause.
We sat by the window
Waiting for the sun to burn.
And this voice became louder
And no more singular.
It was no more a hallucination
But rather a collective conscience.
And our thoughts became one
Cradling our sense of union.
That flame we never blew out
Became the wildfire within us.
And now sitting by the window
Listening to the world sing its one song
Here I am, with you
No more in a blazing inferno
But a raging fire of change.