Emotions awaken to the sounds of heartache,
the windless days so still and refined;
Telling stories old and bold, but deliberately passive,
yet active within each others' minds' eyes.
Out in the atmosphere lurks a stranger,
with gossamer wings, bleak, aged and dark;
Reaching toward the heights of terror and gloom,
crushing a small voice crying out, like a meadowlark.
Distracted are we, the many sounds of confusion,
as we kick the can down the road of solitude;
Attempting once more to depart from images,
which feature only cloudy days and weary sighs.
One day the distractions will morph into glory,
and bring profound hope along its mighty trail;
The mind's eye bulges with bright anticipation,
as shadows soon dissipate, sullen and pale.