Could we but give our souls a voice
Loud enough for those who doubt to hear,
We'd sing of summersongs within our hearts
And hear them echoed in return.
But soft words
Sometimes become weapons
Turned against us by those we hold dear
We watch our worlds crash around us,
Left to sweep up the pieces.
The threads that keep us together are thin
Woven in strands of fate and chance
A web which bends in the breeze
But is rarely strong enough
To hold against a fleeting wind.
Yet fleeting winds and fleeting moments
Are all we have
And all we cling to.
That those moments