No one understands just how many memories
can open up within a tear,
becoming your morning melody.
A glass thread is the only thing
keeping us from the open edge of the quiet shore.
The silence is so loud when no one is listening,
and all you can hear is one whisper of a teardrop at a time.
Endless emptiness strangles us
with an instant chill of darkness,
and any shards of hope
become impossible to balance through the fear.
So many victims have drifted out too far,
following the silence,
unaware of how strong the waves of defeat can be.
There are soft hearts wandering close to the edge,
falling off the thread,
because they cannot see a brighter fate
other than this imperfect home
that has swallowed them into the black abyss.
If only the world cared more to explore
these throbbing heartbeats and silent teardrops,
listen to their melodies.
We can help them learn to embrace an existence
and pierce the cloud of doubt
that is constantly holding them back.
