They came to be.
Some stay and make a home of this heart
Others go,
and fade away like the clouds.
Secrets. Thoughts. Memories.
One in particular came to be
this isolate night.
I cannot tell if it is good
blooming in hope,
or bad,
in its very existence.
For it is a wish of a moribund life,
only so that this heart
can truly learn how to beat
to the rhythm of His will.