what do we have, but this life.
our gods that stay hidden within our minds.
be it unseen,
or undesired.
distinguished as love
and, inevitably, being misplaced.
our memory passes as wind.
and the moments, bursting from our eyes.
but I ask you
what do we have?
but to experience the misunderstood
and grieve from incomprehension.
we have the very thing we call life
and, from time to time, we're told this
by the joy, the pain, and the mystery
that runs down our faces.