What is the weight of wandering thought,
That drifts in silence, untethered, unsought?
Is it heavy with dreams or feathered with doubt,
Does it whisper within or cry to break out?

Why do tears fall when no one is near,
Are we longing for comfort or fleeing from fear?
Why does a smile often feel wrong,
Are we hiding a wound or barely holding on.

Why does silence scream louder than words,
Is its echo sharper than the wings of birds?
Why do memories linger like ghosts in the air,
Do they haunt to remind, or show that we care?