No song we write can fulfill desires birthed in silence.
I can convince myself of such deceit all on my own.
No voices speak that lie, no lyrics can remain in the wake,
the roaring waves are all-consuming.
My emotions are indecipherable syllables, little slips
of sad adjectives and desperate verbs,
crumpled and crushed in fists tensed,
grasping at the balcony railing.
I stare into the lake, the greenest I have seen,
like a lush field of grass made waves by the wind.
Like your eyes, fresh and soft, peace
offered up in honesty and empathy.
And through the rain and the rushing waters
I hear you ask, "Why do you push me away?"
Three choices lay below in the churning
beneath the swiftly accelerating boat:
Take a dive, leave behind silence and song.
Or push you away, leave behind hope and honesty.
Or, for once, admit fault, and stop pushing.
I face you, defeated, and surrender with
rain now soaking everything in gray.
And in that moment I stopped pushing,
I let you love me, knowing by your eyes that
the gray, now blinding me against the waves,
would never let me love you in return.
It drowned all voices, truth or lies.
Drowned all sound, song or storm.
The gray drowned the colors of the lake,
the green of your eyes, and drowned out the memory
of a love song we intended to drown ourselves in.