O but for the break of day
would not darkness dwell.
Dwell heavily in one’s heart
in whispers not to say.

Were not for the moment,
for times spoken in jest.
For memories carried as
an endless chain, dragging.

O but for the fleeting glimpse
of that which treasures hold.
Of diamonds and rubies,
of silver and polished gold.

Were not for the moment,
for times spoken in truth.
For that which is a dream.
For that which was youth.

For each day, each second
each love that I have held.
For each thought, each fear,
each tear that has welled.

For these and this memory
I walk away, once loved.
Feeling what has been felt.
Knowing what is shared.