Never Recorded

The words flew painlessly
From our eager mouths,
We tried with all our power
To remember what we said,
But our words were never recorded,
So now they lie here, dead.
We spoke of missing friends
Who were closer to us than ourselves,
We spoke of lost suns
And eternal winters,
We spoke of autumn’s last blade of grass
Before winter’s heavy snow,
We spoke of the stars in the deep black sky
Before the storm clouds rolled in.
We talked about Fate,
And Heaven, and Hell,
We talked about friends,
And love, and hate,
We talked about ourselves,
How we had grown and changed,
We talked about others,
How much life has given, and taken.
There is no way,
On Earth, Heaven, or Hell,
That the words that escaped our mouths
Could be recorded, rewritten.
There is no way,
That the tears we sobbed that night,
Could be caught in a basin
So that we could drown in them,
There is no way
That the songs that were written,
The stories that were told
Could be performed,
For there was no way
That we would be able
To reconstruct the way
That we were feeling that night.
Our hearts poured out
To each other,
Though we lived so far away,
And even though tens of miles separated us
We were still able to transfer a hug,
To tell each other how much we care.
Our words were never recorded,
Save for in our brains,
And our hopes and fears discarded,
Never to surface again,
We talked for hours on end,
Attempting to make clear the riddle,
But after hours were done,
We were left with a few more questions.
Maybe, in the end,
The questions are what keep us going,
The questions are what make us who we are,
The questions.
The reasons that we speak our words in verse,
The reasons that we make our feelings into poetry,
The reasons.
As we spoke that night,
We were never truly alone,
Because we held in our hearts,
The words, which were never recorded.