There was a time we soared above the highest mountain tops.
No whit at all of nature's quirks or note of how the clouds all stopped
drifting ahead, a mass of force, through the crystal skies.
We heard not the wind, ignored the wood; deaf to worldly cries.
We do not soar anymore.
A pity that those skies are now a storm
of unwelcoming we once were too engrossed to see.
Those mountain tops have never been so sharp
and I fear the wind has aimed the tips to plunge our hearts.
Through the disassemble I recognize a voice or two
and realize that one cry comes from me and the other from you.
What are we to do?
Accept love one another as we have done before
and pray that it is enough to weather this storm.
I know not how the crash will be if we fail or if we'll even survive
But mere memories of the nights we soared is enough to keep even me alive.
